Strange Attractors
by NotAContrivance
Summary: And, so, like always, Derek took what he wanted by force.
1. Bifurcation

Okay, so I totally promised myself I'd finally post this fic when I had it all finished or at least half of it or something, but whatever. I wanted to take my time with it so I wouldn't have to rush the timeline for once for readers. I don't, and I know a new fic is _exactly_ what I don't want to tackle at this point of my life, but whatever. Why not? Might as well celebrate being able to properly post things again. I've gotten a decent enough amount written, though.

But, basically, this fic springs from my realizing, "oh, there are like no Lizzie/Edwin chapter fics out there." And I wanted to be the first, because I have like this insane desire to be the first at things. But obviously I've held back, since I wrote this like, I dunno, months ago, if not maybe a year ago. First started writing, I should say. It's been an on-and-off thing, and I'm blocked right now. But it's also kind of based off of a desire to include a little science in a fic for once, because I like researching things (it makes me feel smart). So there'll be a little bit of that, as you'll see in this chapter, but not so much in the other chapters...

Anyways, first thanks go out to San Cerulean and Lady Azura for telling me what they thought of this fic waaay way before I posted it. Your opinions really meant a lot, and I'll probably be asking you guys all kinds of things later about it, especially since I'm all nastily blocked right now. BTW, Lady Azura really has some completely wonderful Lizzie/Edwin fics out there, by the way, so check 'em out.

Secondly, it should be said that Lizzie and Edwin are teenagers in this fic, so Derek and Casey are in college. I explain most of that later, but it should be noted that Liz and Ed are in their last year of high school... And I think I did a three-year-age-difference between Derek/Casey and Liz/Ed. Edwin's older than Lizzie... Hm, oh, and Marti's five years younger than the both of them. That's about all you need to know, I think.

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**Bifurcation**: Occurs when a parameter change causes the stability of an equilibrium (or set point) to change suddenly.

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"_The Application of Chaos and Game Theory in My Daily Life"_

Okay, so the title needs a little work. I'd been staring at the blank page so long that the words were beginning to blur. The title just glared back at me, so boring, so matter-of-fact, reminding me just how devoid of ideas I really was. My mind was as empty as the page. To make matters worse, the headache I'd been nursing for over an hour had morphed into a raging migraine.

I rubbed my temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. Maybe now wasn't the best time to start. It was as if as soon as I typed that title, I doomed all my ideas to death. It wasn't like I wasn't prepared. Six years of evidence went into this project. I had all the material I needed, but when the time came to write, my ideas just... disappeared. The words wouldn't come.

Frustrated with myself, I minimized the document. I had forcibly realized that it was really pointless for me to stare at the blank document. All it was doing was straining my vision. I pressed a few buttons, opening a very familiar document. I decided I might as well do something productive as long as I was awake, and I'd found that the longer I put off doing logs, the harder it was to remember my observations. I sighed, scrolling down to the bottom of the document, determined to pick up where I'd left off.

**Edwin's Log**

**October 12, 2012**

**Went to school. Test in Physics. Got Chem test back. I set the curve, so I got a 112. L didn't do so well. Seemed disappointed.**

**Considering offering her help.**

**T tried to ask me out again. I ran before she could get the words out.**

**D dropped by today. Laundry this time. N invited him for dinner. Contrary to predictions, D stayed and then went to L's hockey game. D cheered the loudest, especially when L accidentally body-checked T.**

**Fine. I cheered the loudest then.**

**L's team won, despite the blunder. Family went out to celebrate after, toasting to L. I haven't seen L that happy in a long time. L looks tired, pale, and drawn lately. L was positively beaming today. Haven't heard her laugh that much in a very long time.**

**Out of character behavior, since L usually collapses after games. Wonder why the change in behavior... Note: Analyze differences between the two times to figure out the reasons behind L's unusual behavior.**

I frowned, going through some earlier logs. As I read, I began to notice a trend. Lizzie had been acting strangely for at least two weeks, and I had yet to figure out the cause for her behavior. She hadn't been acting strangely enough to cause alarm or worry, but she had been acting out of character... and that was more than enough to whet my curiosity. Besides, she's my best friend. Shouldn't I, of all people, know what's up with her? I vowed to figure it out, pinching the bridge of my nose uselessly trying to relieve the pain between my eyes. But not tonight, I thought wearily. I don't have time...

Still pondering Lizzie's behavior, I pressed save and minimized the document, not bothering to add that I'd been up for hours staring at my project cluelessly. My eyes prickled, dry and bloodshot. I stared at that other screen dully for a few moments longer, hoping some idea, any idea, would come to mind.

Nope. Nothing. I thought of all the research and observations I'd done, carefully cataloging them in my head, searching for any inspiration. Still nothing, even after all that. My head hurt so badly it felt like someone had put my whole cranium in a vice grip. So I sighed heavily, feeling my shoulders sag, and I gave up. Grimacing and holding my head, I quietly exited out of the programs, shut off and closed my laptop. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but my need for aspirin overcame my need for sleep. I cracked the door open, peering out into the inky darkness of the hallway.

It seemed like no one was up. The coast was clear. I opened the door a bit wider so that I could slip through and made my way downstairs in the darkness. I'd wandered about the house so often at night that I knew the way with my eyes closed. I neither stumbled nor made a sound as I padded down the stairs and across the hallway to the bathroom. I was about to open the door and walk in when I heard something. It was a door creaking open softly. My heart jumped. I've always been jumpy at night.

Immediately my head turned to glance down the hall. My eyes hadn't properly adjusted, but I noticed right away which door it was. It was the door to Derek's room, standing wide open. It wouldn't have been anything suspicious, except the door had opened from the outside, and it wasn't Derek or one of his girlfriends standing in front of it. I squinted in the darkness, trying to make out whomever it was. Whoever it was obviously hadn't noticed me yet, so I took the opportunity to watch him or her.

After blinking a couple times, I realized that the person was neither an intruder nor a male. Marti's grown up quite a bit lately, but the figure was significantly taller than her. Then my vision cleared, and I knew who it was. I was staring at my favorite stepsister, Lizzie. At first I thought I was seeing things, so I blinked a couple more times. But I wasn't seeing things; it was Lizzie poised in Derek's doorway. It couldn't be anyone else. Casey was hours away in Toronto.

Frozen, I leaned against the doorframe and stared at her, wondering what on Earth she was doing. I glanced down at my watch (fortunately digital), noting the time. It was 3:47 on a Friday morning. What was Lizzie doing awake, much less at Derek's door? I ran through the possibilities, but my head still pained me. I came up with nothing.

Lizzie often had trouble sleeping in the past. Nowadays she's usually so tired she can just pass out for hours. However, Lizzie had quite a number of other things to do before resorting to Derek. I had never known her to go to him in the past; she, as well as everyone else, knew never to disturb Derek when he was sleeping. Besides, if Lizzie couldn't sleep, she would've first tried reading, and if that didn't work, she'd listen to some music. That usually was enough, but if she still couldn't sleep, she would've gone downstairs and gotten something to eat, probably a warm glass of milk. If that didn't work, she would try and watch TV. If she was showing no signs at all of tiring, she'd occasionally bake something or clean (very Casey-like of her, really) until she got tired. Finally, if none of that was enough, she would come wake me up and make me help her get to sleep. I can't remember a time when it hasn't worked.

Clearly something is wrong here. She never even came to me. I watched her with beady eyes. She didn't move for an eternity, merely hovering in the doorway, so I was about to go back upstairs. My headache had faded a little, and I was so exhausted. Then Lizzie surprised me and darted into Derek's room with a fleetness I wouldn't have suspected. I rubbed my eyes, not sure what I'd seen. The door, however, was still wide open, so Lizzie must've gone inside. Curiosity piqued, I suddenly found myself walking down the hallway to Derek's room. I could hear his heavy snores, so I knew he wasn't awake. I couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was doing in there, and just what it was, exactly, that she wanted from my big brother.

She either has a lot of guts or has lost her mind. Who knows? Maybe she's sleepwalking. Derek used to do that all the time when he was a little kid. Actually, now that I think about it, he was still a somnambulist a few years ago when he was Lizzie's age and younger. It's funny, but he kind of had a resurgence after the McDonalds moved in with us. I always wondered about that.

Finally, I peered into Derek's room, searching out Lizzie's form in the darkness. She was standing with her back towards me directly in front of Derek's bed, so I couldn't see what she was doing. I could see a little because the moonlight fell on her, lighting up her hair and some of her skin. I frowned, suddenly noticing just what Lizzie was wearing: a nightgown. Lizzie does not wear nightgowns to bed. She usually wears a t-shirt and sweats or pajamas or shorts and a tank-top or sometimes, very rarely, a really long shirt that used to belong to her dad. It wasn't just any nightgown either, but one that was almost scandalously short and immodestly tight. I pointedly tried not to look because I respect Lizzie, and it felt wrong to look at her all... discomposed and... undone. It felt like I was invading on her privacy by watching her.

It was kind of like lingerie with lace trim. It was a light pink color and almost transparent. Lizzie also hates pink. She never wears stuff like that. Her hair was down and messy, a bit curlier than usual, as if its unruliness was intentional. It was like I didn't even know her at all. Does Lizzie have a secret life I don't know about? My frown deepened, and I suddenly noticed that she was leaning down. That could mean nothing good. I felt a white-hot feeling of alarm, and I wanted to dash out and grab her before she did anything. Still, something held me back, kept me from barging right over there and pulling her out of the room.

Lizzie leaned down further, but I couldn't see where exactly she was putting her head. As she bent over, her negligee rode up, giving me a hint of her underwear, red and skimpy. I gulped hard, feeling even more guilty than before, and looked somewhere else. I saw the strap on Lizzie's nightgown fall and then slip too far down her shoulder. The chemise slipped a little further down her body as she finally stopped bending down. I tried to avert my eyes but to no avail. Who was this stranger? My stepsister doesn't wear such flimsy clothes. It's almost as if she's begging for it... I did not just think that. That is a Derek thought, and I am not Derek.

She placed her hands, palms down, either on Derek or on his bed. I couldn't tell in the darkness. My brother kept on snoring in peace, oblivious to whatever it was that Lizzie was doing to him. I was kind of afraid to find out, honestly. Since I had no idea what she was doing to my brother, I was rather alarmed. For all I knew, she could've been killing him or... I won't let myself think about the alternative. That's just sick and wrong. I didn't know how far she was going to go, so I deliberately made a noise in the hallway with the hopes that it would scare her off.

Fortunately, I ducked out of the doorway just in time because Lizzie came barreling out of Derek's room, a look of sheer panic on her face. She was frantically straightening her nightgown, but it only made the already-low neckline even more revealing. Wow, I am seeing way more of Lizzie than I'm used to tonight. I grabbed Lizzie by the wrist before she could escape to the safe haven of her room, determined to find out what was going on and why she'd been in my brother's room... practically molesting him! In doing this, I accidentally wound up pinning her to the wall. My hands clamped down hard around both of her wrists, forcing them up above her head.

Surprisingly, Lizzie didn't scream. Her eyes went wide with shock upon seeing me, though. She was panting lightly, either from surprise, her race across the hall, or the guilt of whatever she'd been doing in that bedroom. I couldn't say. I could feel her heartbeat racing, practically even hear it thud. In the dimness of the hall, I noticed that she was flushed and a little sweaty, as if from shame. A sudden chill went down my spine, and I closed my eyes for a minute, not wanting to know what she'd done. Still, closing my eyes changed nothing. She was still there, crushed between me and the wall.

I could feel her chest heave against mine. Her breasts pressed hard against my chest. I didn't remember getting that close to her, but I knew it was too close. It was inappropriate; it didn't feel right. I opened my eyes and felt her whole body shudder against me in a completely unholy way. I exhaled shallowly, completely flummoxed. She shouldn't have done that. I let out a long breath I didn't know I was holding and looked down at her. Lizzie bit down softly on her lip. Her eyes were devoid of fear; she seemed almost relieved. She avoided my gaze at first, but when I finally caught a glimpse of her eyes, I found them to be mysteriously dark. Her breath was warm on my face, her skin hot to the touch.

Her eyelids fluttered lightly before finally closing. I blinked in confusion, suddenly realizing that the whole mood had changed. Something was indeed not right, only now I was stuck in the middle of it. Lizzie just stood there patiently, not fighting me back, not chastising me, not doing anything... almost like she was waiting for something. I had no idea what she wanted or what she was waiting for, so how could I possibly help her? "Lizzie..." I hissed, trying to catch her attention. Lizzie slowly opened her eyes and looked at me. Just then I got a funny feeling in my stomach, like my intestines were all tied up in knots. "What were y..." I tried to ask her that very question I wanted desperately to know the answer to, but the words hung thickly in my throat.

Lizzie merely stared back at me evenly, but there was a feverish, distracted look in her eyes. It almost seemed like she was looking past me. She didn't speak. I guess I couldn't ask her because, really, I didn't want to know what she was doing to my sleeping brother. I knew all I needed to know. I'd caught her red-handed, and it was wrong. Nevertheless, I struggled to think of something... anything... to say to her. We stood there together, so close, in complete silence, not quite awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. Eventually it occurred to me that I was wasting my time there, and that I would be better off sleeping like I wanted to earlier. Since it was my intention to let her go, I loosened my grip on her wrists, which fell like leaden weights to her sides.

I tried to draw back a little, all too aware of every place where Lizzie and I touched. I needed distance to be able to breathe properly. I hadn't started to move back very far when Lizzie surprised me by reaching out and placing her burning hand on my cool cheek. Her eyes were clouded and heavy-lidded. When she spoke, it was in a low murmur that poured down my spine like a cool glass of water. "In this light, you look a lot like him," she whispered reverently, almost rapturously. I inhaled shallowly and felt myself shiver all over. Her voice almost tickled me. However, a few moments later, epiphany struck as I realized just what she'd said.

It all clicked in my mind. All the pieces fit together; I knew what was wrong with Lizzie—seriously wrong, all right.

Instinctively I drew back, out of her grasp. I saw the barely-concealed hunger in her eyes, the desperation burning inside of her, but I had my limits. I long ago drew the line and vowed never to cross it; I'm not going to stop now. "You're in love with Derek," I said tactlessly, noticing all too well how breathless I sounded. My voice was an octave lower than usual and husky. I felt my cheeks flush, and I was glad the darkness shielded me. Lizzie neither confirmed nor denied it in words, but her body language was enough for me. I saw the way she slumped and dropped her gaze to her feet, clearly ashamed. That's when it really hit me. It was real; my hasty hypothesis proven. I couldn't even say supported like I should because here was unequivocal evidence that my theory was a fact.

Lizzie shuffled her feet awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to tell me. She could feel the disapproval radiating off me in waves. My curiosity was satisfied but not for the better, and now that it was I only wished that I could return to my former state of ignorance. Finally Lizzie mustered up the courage to look at me, painfully managing a smile. "C'mon, Ed, like you never fantasized about Casey during that whole cold-shower phase of yours?" Lizzie retorted weakly, trying to make a joke of it and failing miserably. I remembered those early days of puberty with a scarcely-masked grimace. All her remark served to do was embarrass me further, especially since I had _never_ fantasized over Casey.

Now it was my turn to look away, cheeks burning. "No," I replied simply, "I never did." Casey was off-limits, and she's not my type anyway. It was the other, more agreeable stepsister that had occupied my thoughts those years in the bathroom. For some time after we moved in I had a massive crush on Lizzie. It lasted almost all of middle school until it finally sunk in that nothing would ever happen and that it was wrong. Luckily it faded, and I'd all but forgotten it, but I am not willing to see it come back again. Of course I couldn't let Lizzie find out that I'd once...

Lizzie sighed, shoulders sagging. "Then you're lucky," she quipped dully, leaning against the wall heavily. I just stared at her, still not quite believing it. Lizzie in love with my older brother? Who could believe that? Casey would blow a gasket if she knew! Of course, Casey wouldn't find out. There was a sibling code, and I wasn't about to break it. However, I wasn't going to help Lizzie land my brother when I know it's wrong. She's like a sister to me, and I need to look out for her. Setting her up with Derek is the exact opposite of looking out for her. I don't want Lizzie to get a broken heart, but with Derek it's inevitable.

I just nodded, exhaling heavily, once again noticing just how close I was to Lizzie. One of the straps fell down her shoulder. Lizzie glanced at it, but she made no moves to push it back up. She seemed laconic and apathetic. Her eyes were frighteningly empty. I motioned to her attire somewhat awkwardly, trying to avoid looking at just how little clothing she was wearing. If I looked at it, I wouldn't be able to stop because then I'd notice it. Lizzie's my best friend and my sister, but I'm still a red-blooded man. "Is _that_ what all this is about, then?" I asked almost angrily, gesturing to her lack of clothing. I hadn't realized I was so upset. "You want to seduce my brother?" I growled, practically snarling at her.

Lizzie flinched slightly, flattening herself against the wall. She closed her eyes as if she'd been stricken. I felt bad almost immediately, regretting what I said. Still, I couldn't take it back, no matter how much I wanted to, just like she couldn't take back her feelings for Derek. I hadn't meant to spit out all those awful things and make her feel awful. I just... didn't exactly approve, and she could do a lot better than my brother. She didn't utter a sound or even open her eyes. She didn't even attempt to deny it. I guess she was waiting for me to leave.

So I lightly captured the strap between my fingers, pulling it all the way up to its rightful place on her shoulder. My fingers brushed lightly against her skin. Her skin was still so hot that my fingers burned afterwards. She drew in a ragged breath as her eyelids slowly flickered open. Suddenly she was looking at me again, headlong, with that bewildering look in her smoldering eyes. I didn't know what to make of it, of her. I'd never seen that look in her eyes, that emotion. Lizzie's eyes were warm, friendly, even inquisitive, but not burning... never hard and bold like this. Lizzie knows me better than anyone, but I'd never seen that written plainly in her eyes like it was now, like she was seeing through me. I hadn't moved at all like I'd wanted to, but the aura of distress that hung about Lizzie held me there.

After all, she's my sister, partner in crime, and best friend. If she's drowning, I'm going to rescue her. She goes down; I'm going down with her. Lizzie's eyes dropped down a bit lower as she regarded me strangely. I felt my frown return, wondering why she was staring at me so unnervingly. Then she draped her arms loosely around my neck, moving closer to me once again. I was so stunned by the sudden gesture that I practically jumped up in the air. I blinked, still in shock, and then pulled away. There was something terrifyingly real about the moment. I didn't know what was going to happen next, only that this woman was not the Lizzie I knew. I like to know what's coming next so I know what to expect, and I didn't.

I was forced to take the situation into my own hands. Hastily I removed Lizzie's arms from my neck, grabbing her lightly by the wrist. She was heavy and unwilling to move, so I half-dragged her into her bedroom. She fought me every inch of the way, strangely enough. No one expects a girl in a pink nightgown to be that strong, and even fewer men would admit that a girl in a pink slip is stronger than they are. I have no defense for that since the brain isn't even a muscle, but the struggle was only slightly balanced in Lizzie's favor. The battle for dominance was a complete blur. I don't remember a thing, but suddenly we were all the way across the room, exhausted. With a single motion, I gently pushed Lizzie down on to her bed.

What I didn't notice, of course, was that she'd grabbed me by the wrist, bringing me down with her. Actually, she brought me down on top of her so suddenly I didn't see it coming. I'd forgotten how strong she was, how she could incapacitate a man over three times her size. Falling knocked the breath out of me. I was exhausted and sweaty from our fight and my lack of sleep, my mind wearied by the hours of research I'd done earlier. I lacked the energy to even move at first, let alone push myself up and away from her. That dark, strange look was still in her eyes. She said nothing about my proximity.

She was a puzzle that didn't fit together, a book written in a language I couldn't read. Her grip on my wrist loosened some, but she didn't let go. Not completely. She was holding me there with her just as much as I was laying there, awkward yet comfortable. Lizzie shifted her hips, trying to get more comfortable, knowing I could feel it. It didn't feel right at all. She leaned forward infinitesimally, and I felt her hipbones pressing into my skin sharply. She was so very thin, this Lizzie, all sharp edges and curves. Then she licked her lips, leaning her head back so I got a glance at her eyes. They were whiskey brown, amber-colored, dark and intent and searching. Gone was the lightness, the laughter I knew.

She was looking at me, and I suddenly realized with an awful clarity just what she was intending... what she meant by that stare. Lizzie _wanted _me badly. Worse still, I knew why. She wanted me because she was really in love with Derek, and she wanted him even worse, but I'd interrupted. Even if I hadn't interrupted, she knew she couldn't have him anyway. She wanted me because she wanted to feel a man, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. She wanted contact, skin on skin, and she was craving it desperately. Desperately enough to settle for me.

Regardless of everything else... the facts that she's my stepsister and my best friend and it's wrong... I was insulted. I've never liked being stuck in Derek's shadow, but I've accepted it; however, I draw the line at being a substitute for my brother in a girl's arms, especially Lizzie's. So I leaped off of her as if I'd been burned. This Lizzie was dangerous, volatile, unpredictable, and I needed to get away from her. I couldn't trust myself around her. "No," came my voice in a hush as I shook my head again and again. I may love Lizzie more than all my other siblings, but I refuse to let her use me. I've kowtowed to Derek, Casey, and Marti's will for my whole life; I'm not about to submit to hers now, compromising all my principles, because she's desperate.

Lizzie sat up abruptly, wrapping an arm around my neck before I saw it coming and pulling my head down towards hers. Her eyes were still so hungry and needy, so intent that I didn't know what to do with myself. So I did what I could, and that was to push her away almost violently. She'd regret this in the morning if she even remembered it, which I doubted. She tried to sit up again, struggling, and I found myself clutching her wrists, holding them down against the bed, once again half on top of her. Liz fought me, though, as hard as she could, but my white-knuckled grip was stronger. I held her down. "Go to bed, Lizzie," I ordered a bit too hoarsely.

Her eyes flashed suggestively, hinting at the other connotation of the words. I suddenly remembered my position. It was as if she was some sort of wild animal, a savage beast, a kind of monster I had to restrain. Lizzie had always been a little spunky, tougher than me, and a bit headstrong. The only difference was that those traits had seemingly multiplied in her hope to get my brother. I realized with a flash of clarity that it was the middle of the night, and I was in my scantily-clad stepsister's bedroom, straddling her and holding her wrists down to the bed. I know how it looks. If I was some other guy... I erased the disturbing thought from my mind as quickly as it had entered. Flushed and barely panting, I removed my hands from around her wrists, seeing the red marks I left behind and knowing they would bruise tomorrow. I awkwardly got off of her, mechanically pulling the covers up over her heaving form. "Goodnight," I muttered hastily.

Unable to stay there one minute more with that stranger I couldn't trust, I bolted out of the room, slamming the door softly behind me, dashing up the stairs to my room two at a time. I climbed straight into bed, physically and mentally exhausted. My headache had returned with a fury, and thoughts kept circulating in my mind, making rest an impossibility. Sleep did not come easily to me; I was too shaken up for that. My eyes would close momentarily, but something always drove them open. My mind neither slowed down nor stopped thinking rapidly. As I could not silence my thoughts, my headache grew even worse, but I dared not go back downstairs and risk meeting up with Lizzie again.

I wound up staring at my ceiling in the dark for most of the night, unable to catch even a wink of sleep. When rays of sunlight flickered across my ceiling, my alarm went off, and I was forced to drag my tired, aching body out of bed. I could barely keep my eyes open. I plodded down the stairs to the bathroom like a zombie, barely awake enough to register the scalding hot heat on my back. Then I dazedly walked back upstairs and dressed slowly. Today was going to suck, I decided grimly. Thanks a lot, Lizzie.

Loren ;

Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you'd review and tell me what you think. I don't know when exactly updates are going to come (other than when I'm not busy)... but I won't be awful about them unless I'm really stuck, I promise. Thanks! Hope you liked it!


	2. Initial Conditions

Okay, so here's chapter two. Had no idea I'd be posting so soon, but the little demon just compelled me again. Wretched creature. I have reading and a midterm and whatnot to do, yet here I am, posting this.

Anyways, for this chapter, I guess you could basically say that the plot thickens because Derek makes an appearance, of course, and so do some other characters. You also basically get to see what life's like for Edwin at school, more or less. I don't own Life with Derek, but I do own Ed's science teacher and Shelbert, not that I want to.

Hope you like. Next chapter, by the way, has some nice tension moments. This one... not so much.

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**Initial conditions:** the state of a system prior to an experiment or change in variables.

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Grumbling, I made my way downstairs that same morning, resenting and blaming Lizzie for keeping me up all night. I was bleary-eyed, sore, and just plain exhausted. She was down there already, sitting at the table as if nothing had happened, sipping a glass of orange juice. Of course she looked perfectly rested. I glowered at the back of her head, peevishly pouring myself a bowl of cereal. She obviously didn't remember. Lucky her. As if on cue, Derek bounded down the stairs. I was vaguely surprised that Derek was up before ten, let alone seven in the morning, but I was too annoyed with Lizzie to ponder it. However, that didn't stop me from noticing the way her eyes trailed after him as he walked through the kitchen, looking for food. My irritation intensified.

He scooped some eggs off her plate and dashed past me, ruffling my hair, to rifle through the fridge for his favorite beverage: milk fresh from the carton. Derek grabbed something, but I wasn't paying attention to him. I was too busy staring at Lizzie to notice. I turned, however, when I heard his voice. He was frowning and pointing to my cereal bowl. "Are you okay, Ed?" He asked, actually sounding concerned. Normally this would've started up the warning bells in my head, but Derek's gotten nicer and more brotherly lately. I guess.

I lied and told him I was, but he didn't believe me. Derek always could see through a lie like no one else. I guess he knows because he's told so many himself. He smirked and gestured, once again, to my cereal. "Then why are you pouring orange juice on your cereal?" He remarked smugly. I glanced down and jumped as the orange juice started to drip down the side of the counter. I swore loudly and began to wipe it up. Derek laughed and followed where my gaze had been. He looked at Lizzie for a moment, failing to notice how she perked up under his stare, failing to notice that she was in love with him. He met her gaze for just a brief second, giving her the slightest bit of hope, and then he turned to me, never realizing how cruel he was unintentionally being. He smirked again, giving me a knowing look, taking in my disheveled appearance amusedly.

I wanted to wash my hands, but Derek motioned for me to follow him outside. A motion from Derek was like an imperial mandate; I didn't dare refuse. He was grinning like he knew something I didn't, which was beginning to grate on my already irritated nerves. I wanted to tell him to just spit it out already, and stop being so damn smug; naturally, however, I couldn't do that. Derek kept it up a bit longer before sobering up some, although it was plain to see that he was still amused by the whole thing. I glared at him, which was apparently strong enough to force him to speak. The grin fell a little on his face, and I was glad. "Why didn't you just tell me, Ed? Did you think I wasn't going to find out? I'm not blind, you know!" Derek exclaimed.

His tone was rather enigmatic. I couldn't tell if he was mad at me or not. He didn't seem to be, and Derek's never one to hide when he's angry. Honestly, I didn't even know what he was talking about. I hadn't even done anything! Had I? I frowned, pondering this, and let Derek continue. He gave me a strange look. "Did you think I wouldn't approve?" he asked, furrowing his brow. I blinked dumbly, still horribly confused by the whole situation. Derek frowned at my lack of an answer and carried on nonetheless. "I'm actually kind of proud of you, kid." He punched me on the shoulder cheerfully while I gaped. I rubbed my shoulder; it hurt.

Derek had never said anything like that to me in my whole life. Not when I'd gotten my first girlfriend or had my first date or even lost my virginity, not when I won the school science fair and got second place at Nationals. But he flashed that dazzling grin of his, the one that made you feel like you're the only person on the planet he really cares about. "You little rebel. I would've never thought you'd finally realize what was right in front of you. Lizzie's a good girl... You made a good choice," Derek replied almost lovingly. He patted me on the shoulder in a brotherly way. My jaw dropped even further, so far that it hurt me to hold it open.

Ouch. I think I pulled a jaw muscle. I stared at him in disbelief. Lizzie coming on to me last night was one thing; her loving Derek was another, but Derek thinking I liked Lizzie! Well, that was just completely nuts! "Y-y-you actually t-think that I... that I... l-like Lizzie?" I stuttered, completely horrified. Derek just laughed and patted me hard on the back, smiling jovially.

He seemed suddenly so terrifically friendly. I'd always known Derek could be like this, but rarely ever to me. Derek hasn't ever been a touchy-feely kind of guy. "Relax, Edwin... I'm not going to tell Dad or Nora. Your little secret's safe with me. Hell, I approve. You couldn't have picked a better girl than Lizzie," Derek declared brightly. Strange, I thought briefly. He was in an extremely good mood that morning, for whatever reason. He actually seemed genuinely happy for me. Shaking these thoughts off, I shook my head, feeling the annoyance creeping up inside of me again.

"No, Derek. You've got it all wrong. There's absolutely nothing like that between me and Liz-"

A wry smile still lingered on his lips. Derek looked remotely thoughtful. "Oh, I get it," he said suddenly. I felt myself perking up some, glad he understood just how ridiculous a theory like that was. Phew. I actually thought he really believed that... "You haven't told her yet." I could've smacked myself in the forehead for that one, but I didn't want to make my headache worse. Derek could be so completely stupid sometimes. I rolled my eyes at him and was about to correct him when he, once again, cut me off. "Oh, right... You're shy about girls," Derek remarked distractedly. I bristled at the comment. I was not shy about or around girls. If I like them, I tell them. My brother and I are not that different. I just prefer to date girls I actually like, and I haven't really liked a girl in a while. There's nothing wrong with that, no matter what he thinks.

Derek pursed his lips, staring at me thoughtfully. He had that look in his eyes, the one he always has when he's plotting something and up to no good. I gulped. Uh oh. What have I inadvertently gotten myself into? Then he nodded, deciding aloud, "Yes. I'll help you, Edwin. I'll hook you up with Lizzie." He said it as if it was a sudden revelation, as if it was law, as if it made up for all the rotten things he'd done to me as a kid. Frankly, it made me more than a little angry. I hadn't asked him for anything, much less his patronizing help, and he didn't even ask me if I wanted to be with her. He just _assumed_, and then he assumed that I was so incapable of wooing anyone on my own that he could just swoop in and fix everything so it would work out for me. His statement was still so surprising, so unprovoked and unasked for that I blinked and said nothing at first before I came to myself and started denying it.

I grabbed his shoulder with a pleading look in my eyes. "Derek, please, don't! You really don't have to, and I'd prefer it, really, if you didn't-" I begged desperately, but Derek cut me off before I could say more.

He waved his hand dismissively, like my appeal didn't matter at all. "No, Edwin... You don't have to say a word. I know you want to do this on your own, but let's face it... You really have no balls when it comes to this sort of thing, and Lizzie's your best friend in the world. I know you don't want to risk that... but if I don't help you, you won't do anything. So just stop your protesting. You know you want Lizzie, and I'm going to help you land her. Now, remember, you owe me, Little Brother," Derek insisted stubbornly, bossily. He failed to realize that he was really completely wrong about the whole thing. What he said made me angry, too, all that stuff about me not having balls... I did. I just didn't want Lizzie! And on top of all that, I was in Derek's debt.

I am not a helpless baby bird, and Derek is not my father! I was so blindingly angry that he couldn't see it, so I unwisely decided to argue with him. "Guts, Derek? What about Casey, huh? Some balls you showed there!" I shouted at him. I don't entirely know why I brought up Casey, but something about his relationship with her had never settled quite right with me. There was something off about it, something below the surface, something he wasn't telling anyone—least of all, Casey.

Derek's eyes flashed menacingly. Casey was a particularly sore subject, for whatever reason. She was in Toronto now and dating Noel. She seemed happy when she called, but Derek was never around when she called. It seemed almost as if she planned it like that. Casey never visited, so Derek was over all the time to compensate, I guess. He resented this a lot, I think, that she never showed her face around here. I don't want to attribute feelings he doesn't have to him (like he so carelessly did to me), but maybe he was even hurt, and he missed her a little. He seemed to think it was his fault. Albeit, it might've well been, but there was something else entirely between them that I'd missed in all my observations. Derek had never treated her very well; that was certain, and, indeed, they had never hated each other more. Still, Casey couldn't really be that desperate to avoid him, could she?

Lizzie missed Casey a lot, more than anyone except Nora. I don't think she really knew what to do without Casey. Maybe that was why she turned to Derek. "What about Casey?" Derek spat venomously, crossing his arms over my chest and drawing me out of my thoughts. His cheeks were flushed; he was clearly enraged.

At a loss for what to say, I merely shrugged, giving up. "Nothing. I'm sorry I brought it up," I muttered wearily. The words I wanted to say echoed in my head: you never could quite tell her what you wanted to say. I didn't know what he wanted to tell her, but I knew that he had been holding back from her. I sensed that Derek wasn't entirely ready and willing to drop the subject just like that, but he just sighed and gave up, realizing that he was better off this way. He exhaled deeply, as if trying to breathe out all the anger. He eyed me suspiciously for a few moments before shouting a goodbye to Lizzie and me and storming out the front door. I felt bad for putting Derek in such a bad mood, but it was one little comment; how was I supposed to know he'd get pissed like that?!

Now he was determined to get Lizzie and me together. Great, just great. Just what I need, another thing to worry about... one more lousy complication. Let's see... there's my university applications and all that entails, worrying about whether or not they'll accept me, passing and graduating my final year of high school, having a social life, that project Lizzie and I are working on, the paper I'm entering in the contest, my research, Marti dating that older punk kid and out at all hours doing God knows what, Dad and Nora fighting all the time, Casey never visiting, the possibility of Derek getting injured, put in jail, or flunking out of school, Lizzie being in love with my big brother, and now Derek trying to hook me up with my best friend and our mutual stepsister. As you can see, I worry a hell of a lot, and stuff like this doesn't exactly help.

I sighed raggedly, feeling vaguely like I couldn't find my breath and needed to suck in the oxygen until I could, but it was never enough. Then I walked back into the kitchen, cleaning up the rest of the mess and dumping my soggy cereal into the sink. I put the orange juice back in the fridge, finding I'd lost all of my appetite. Lizzie stared at me oddly, pouting a little, probably a bit sad Derek had gone so early. I could care less, but I couldn't fail to notice that she was wearing quite a bit more make-up than she usually did: brown eyeshadow, eyeliner, pink blush, and shiny pink lip-gloss. In addition, she was wearing one of Casey's old mini-skirts, a rose-colored suede one, tall black boots, and a low-cut red printed top (again, Casey's) that was practically falling off her shoulders. Furthermore, she was wearing her hair down and straightened. Wow, I thought. Lizzie really wasn't trying to be subtle about it, was she? Someone was trying to impress Derek.

Too bad he was trying to "hook her up" with me, I thought grimly. I really wished I'd been able to tell Derek that I didn't like Lizzie, but he was so stubborn and wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise! Oh well, what's the worst he can do? Obviously he can't make me do anything, since I'm not willing, and Lizzie's in love with him, so it's not like he can make her fall for me. So, really, who can it hurt? "What's wrong?" Lizzie asked suddenly, cutting into my thoughts. "You don't look good, and... what were you and Derek talking about? He looked so angry." Her voice was so sweet and concerned, but I was still annoyed with her, so I couldn't appreciate the sentiments. Besides, she probably only cared about Derek anyway.

So instead, I said nothing. I merely grunted, slurping down some water, found my backpack, and chucked her the keys. Obviously I was in no state to drive us to school, plus it gave me some much needed time to sleep. She'd obviously forgotten all about it, so why couldn't I? But things only got worse when we got to school. Lizzie surprised me with a sloppy kiss to the cheek, so sudden it made me flinch. Liz usually does something like that before running off to her locker and her friends and her classes, to show she cares, I guess. She jerked away as if hurt by my reaction. I couldn't much see why. I was tired, and I probably would've jumped had anyone touched me. I was sick of touching her, though, and, with everything that had happened, I didn't want to touch her again for a very, very long time.

The day went by slow and dreary enough, with me worrying about everything known to man. It seemed that whenever I turned around I had something else to contemplate, something else to fear, another thing for me to obsess over. And I hated it. I wanted so badly to scream and rebel and be like Derek, but I couldn't, so I bottled it all up inside. As if the drama with Lizzie wasn't bad enough, Jamie approached me during passing period. I had woken up a little by that point, so I was intending to go over and apologize to Lizzie. Unfortunately for that plan, Jamie intercepted me. Other than me and Casey, Jamie was probably Lizzie's best friend. It's very strange that a girl should have two male best friends, one of them her brother, but Lizzie always was a tomboy.

She and Jamie weren't as good friends as Lizzie and me, of course. After all, he didn't live with her. However, they'd gone out for a while, a long time ago, through middle school and freshman year. It didn't mean a lot to Lizzie, I think. She broke up with him, after all, because their relationship had become "safe, predictable, and routine". It was too easy for her, and she wanted to get out and try new things. I couldn't blame her for that. Their friendship had never quite been the same afterwards, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Jamie still had a huge thing for her. And, of course, that was what he came to me to talk about. Just peachy.

I actually grimaced when I saw him coming towards me. I tried to turn the other way, but he was faster than me. Jamie and I weren't really friends at all. He was that ubiquitous friend-of-a-friend whom you get along with but don't really know that well and don't want to know. You talk to the person when you have to, and kind of hang out with him sometimes, but it's always kind of awkward since he isn't _your _friend. We have virtually nothing in common other than Lizzie; he's into music and drama, while I'm into science. In addition, I am a great deal more popular than he is, if only because Lizzie's my sister and my last name is Venturi, as in Derek Venturi. Oh, and I guess I inherited the family good looks. Apparently my fraudulent reputation as a ladies' man (I blame Tanya) was what led him to ask me for advice. That and my close relationship with Lizzie.

"Edwin, can you do me a favor?" Jamie asked immediately. The answer to this question is obviously a no. I don't do favors. However, I was exhausted and not thinking fast enough to deflect him. I blinked, suddenly blind-sighted. I eyed Jamie wearily, having a nasty feeling what he was about to ask me involved Lizzie. I was reluctant to agree to anything, and, besides, I wasn't in the mood. If I'd cared, I might've glared at him, but I didn't want to waste the energy.

I merely sighed instead, feeling rather irritable. My headache hadn't gone away. In fact, it only seemed to be getting worse! "What?" I remarked a bit too snappily. I was running out of time, and I didn't want to be late for my favorite class because of him. I silently cursed Jamie for preventing me from both apologizing to Lizzie and getting something to take the edge off this killer headache.

Jamie looked all shy and abashed, a look he was very fond of. I personally hated his stupid hound-dog look and had told Lizzie so more than once. I hated the way he used that to gain sympathy. I'm not jealous; it just irritates me, since I think he's an overall weak individual and an annoyance. I know I probably sound like a jerk, but I guess that's just the Derek in me. He's kind of pathetic, really, especially the way he dotes on Lizzie. She scolded me for saying that, never liking to talk bad about others. He's so obvious about it. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him; I felt that, if I did, they'd roll back into my head. He looked as nervous as a rabbit, only rabbits are cute and cuddly. Jamie was neither and annoying to boot.

When he spoke, the words were all blurred together. "I'minlovewithLizzieandIwantyourhelpgettingherback." I didn't understand and asked him to repeat it. He did, but he was stuttering so badly I couldn't understand a word. Lacking patience, I told him shortly to hurry it up. "I'm in love with Lizzie, and I want to get back with her," Jamie managed finally. By the time he finished I was even more worn out. I knew what that implied, but I needed to make him implicitly state my role.

"And what does that have to do with me?" I asked, suddenly feeling very much like Derek. How strangely mercenary of me. Honestly, though, I was pissed off, and my dislike of Jamie was only worsening with my mood. It had been one very, very long day, and it wasn't even time for lunch yet.

Jamie had a stupid hopeful look in his eyes. It hurt to look at him, made me feel guilty. Honestly, Jamie is, for the most part, a nice guy. Lizzie could do a lot worse. Then again, she could also do a lot better. "Well, Edwin, no one knows Lizzie better than you... So I was wondering if you could maybe help me out?" Jamie pleaded. For one thing, he was still one of Lizzie's best friends. Didn't he know her well enough to get her back on his own? Aside from that, he's already dated her, even if he is stuck in the friends' zone at present. So, logically, wouldn't he know more about dating her than me, her _brother_, since he's already done it once? He was so pathetic and helpless I found myself caving. Damn it. I swear the kid was giving me puppy-dog eyes. I frowned, trying to think of a way to talk him out of it. Maybe if I convinced him how stupid the idea was...

I shook my head slightly, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. "Jamie... You're wasting your time, man. Lizzie doesn't date high school guys," I said convincingly. Jamie, of course, quickly refuted that, giving me a point-by-point of every boyfriend she'd had in high school. The list was a lot longer than I would've liked, including such notables as Jason, Jimmy L, the infamous Rod, and my best friend, Dan. That being said, Lizzie hadn't dated anyone for almost year (not counting Junior Prom). In retrospect, I wondered if maybe she'd realized then that she was in love with Derek.

Noticing that time was running out, my frown deepened, and I decided to just be honest with him. "Okay. It's like this... Lizzie's in love with someone else. Someone older, a real heartbreaker. She knows she can never have the guy, and he hasn't ever even thought of her that way... but she can't stop loving him. She doesn't want to date anyone. So, really, you're better off just forgetting about it, Jamie. Save yourself a world of pain," I explained concisely, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder when I saw how his face fell. It was the truth, though. Jamie was absolutely no competition for Derek.

I swear Jamie sniffled a little when he asked me who. Honestly, I was rather surprised he asked. He didn't seem like he was giving up, which was bad. Then I noticed he was eying me suspiciously. I scowled at him dead-on. I'm wasting my free time talking to this loser, trying to convince him in his own best interest that Lizzie isn't really what he wants, and he's shooting me that kind of look?! "Why won't you tell me, Edwin? You aren't hiding something, are you?" There was a strange, calculating tone in his voice that suggested a perceptiveness I hadn't been expecting. However, it wasn't all that warranted. I was hiding something, but it wasn't really mine to hide.

It suddenly occurred to me that Jamie saw me unequivocally as a rival. He'd believed all those rumors he'd heard about me and Lizzie (jealous people will say anything if they think it'll destroy you), and now he thought of me as competition. I think I can safely say that I could beat the boy in just about any competition. The rumors, of course, were common knowledge. We're not blood-related after all, technically, and brothers and sisters aren't this close usually. To top it all off, we're two hormonal teens who live together. Everyone knew about the rumors, and everyone acknowledged that they were false. Lizzie and I had made that quite clear, but we understood. Still, that didn't stop people from contemplating them and whispering about us periodically even now, almost four years later. The rumors started right after she dumped Jamie; some people said she did it because she wanted me instead when, in reality, she was just sick of Jamie. Jamie, it seemed, was a staunch believer now. Okay, I guess I was acting a little suspicious, but I'm just trying to save him the trouble and to get him out of my hair.

Jamie, of all people! I shook my head, rubbing my temples. Didn't he know us better than that? "She likes..." I trailed off, unable to think of any older male that wasn't Derek or a relative. Someone Lizzie could like. Then it hit me like a lightning rod. "Noel! Lizzie's in love with Noel, Casey's boyfriend. And that's why it can never happen. She would never do that to Casey!" I proclaimed, somewhat proud that my lie was decent and remotely believable. Jamie raised an eyebrow at me but seemed to accept this as shameful enough. "But I promised her I'd never tell. You've got to keep it a secret, Jamie. If you really love Lizzie, you'll do it," I hinted warningly, trying to coerce him into doing my bidding. It was a convenient lie, managing to ensure that Lizzie didn't find out what I'd told him.

He nodded solemnly, making the gesture for zipping his lips. Secret's safe... for now. I sighed in relief, but Jamie was too busy staring at Liz dreamily to notice. I followed his gaze; she was talking and laughing with her friends. I envied that she was able to talk so freely whereas I've spent half my life getting harassed. Lizzie suddenly turned, and we locked eyes. The smile on her face fell a little. She looked slightly hurt and turned away abruptly. The corners of Jamie's mouth slowly turned down, but he was more determined than I suspected. His beady eyes found mine, and there was that stupid hopeful look again. "So you'll help me?" he chirped. His bottom lip trembled.

That was when I knew I couldn't say no. I'm way too nice for my own good, even when I'm in a rotten mood. Sighing, I nodded, giving in. I don't really have a choice, but damned if I know how to land Lizzie. She's my stepsister for a reason. "Fine. Fine! But I make no promises," I consented wearily, a bit frustrated with myself. Jamie was so excited he almost hugged me, but luckily I managed to sideswipe him. Even I have a reputation to keep up, and the last thing I need is some drama geek putting his hands on me, even if everyone knows he's hung up on Lizzie. Nevertheless, he thanked me profusely before turning on his heel and practically skipping down the hallway.

I shook my head. There's something seriously wrong with that kid. I still maintain that he's nuts, and Lizzie could do way better. If I'm lucky, I can get through this year without having to do anything for him. Jamie's so stupid he wouldn't know the difference anyway. I picked up my pace, wanting to get to class on time. Unfortunately for me, fate had other plans. Chaos interrupted. Now, I like to think that I know a fair bit about Chaos Theory, having studied it for some seven plus years, so logically I should've seen it coming. But I was too tired, and I hadn't counted on Tanya's persistence.

She does this every day unless I manage to avoid her. For some reason, Tanya woke up one day and decided that I was utterly irresistible. She's proclaimed ever since that I'm the most attractive guy in our entire school. I find this ironic since she made fun of me when I was younger and refused to go out with me. I haven't quite forgotten that rejection, so I make a point of refusing all offers from her. Honestly, though, she's not even my type, and she's Lizzie's arch-rival. Tanya's annoyingly omnipresent around the school, always skulking down hallways and scaring the poor freshman. A girl who's as tall and thin and delicate-looking as she is shouldn't be fearsome, but Tanya's a rare girl bully—and for good reason! She's the captain of the girl's hockey team, and just as aggressive (if not more) as any boy I've ever met.

Despite being fairly pretty and like a supermodel in just about every sense of the word, not to mention her huge chest, Tanya is a tomboy. She wears baggy clothes, always puts her hair up in a ponytail, and never puts on any make-up. If she wasn't so clingy and terrifying, she'd have every guy in the school in the palm of her hand. As for me, I don't like blondes. Besides, Lizzie is way prettier, and she'd kill me if I liked Tanya. She's definitely stronger than me, too, but I'm a lot faster from years of practice. Today, though, I really wasn't in the mood to deal with Tanya.

So, when she walked in front of me, flipping her hair and just blurting out the question, I managed to restrain myself from grabbing her by the shoulders and throttling her. Just barely. I managed instead a tight smile and cut her off mid-sentence. "Tanya... Shut up. I'm so damn sick of this. I avoid you; you hunt me down and pop the question... I tell you no, but you just do it again the next day! When will you understand that my answer is _never _going to be any different?!" I hissed, frustrated, trying to keep it down so as to not embarrass her. It was embarrassing enough being stalked by her, let alone rejecting her. All her stupid little girlfriends hate me for it. I took a deep breath, trying to cool down. "I don't like you, Tanya, and I'm never going to like you. Now let me be," I replied calmly, gently pushing her aside so I could walk past her.

Tanya, however, had other plans. As I was walking by her, she snatched my arm and pulled me around so I was facing her. Never mind that we were in the middle of a crowded hallway. "But I **love **you, Edwin!" She ejaculated so loudly that people started to stare. Flushing down to the roots of my hair, I glanced around nervously, silently begging her to stop humiliating the both of us. Like her loving me is my fault? Her fingers wrapped around my wrist like a vice grip. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Tanya exclaimed mournfully.

Talk about melodramatic.

Quite honestly, Tanya, no, it doesn't.

I don't feel the same regardless, and her making me feel bad about it won't make me change my mind.

I don't want her to love me, and I doubt she's really in love with me anyway. That's a very strong feeling, and you shouldn't go about bandying it around all willy-nilly. "I can't help what you feel, and I feel sorry for you, but I don't love you," I said as politely as I could. I removed her hand quickly so I could exit faster, but Tanya surprised me by grabbing me even more forcibly than before. She kissed me sloppily, urgently, refusing to let go. I'd expected her to hurt me, maybe punch me or slap me, not this! Needless to say, I didn't kiss her back. I pushed her away and off of me as soon as I possibly could, backing away from her so she couldn't do it again. Then I shook my head, turned my back on her, wiped my lips in disgust, and hurried off to my next class.

The bell rang just then, as I was mere inches from the door, so I wound up late to class. Sometimes I hate my life very much, but that's just my luck. Scowling, I pushed the door open and slipped inside. Feeling my face burn, I hopped into the first empty seat I saw. The teacher gave me a look but started talking about the lab we were doing. Lizzie's usually my lab partner, but she was sitting with this bitchy, ditzy cheerleader friend of hers who hates me. Lizzie's too nice to realize this, and I don't care enough to say anything about it. That meant that I was left with Shelbert Schlepper a.k.a. "Shelby", the clumsiest, most maladroit person in our grade. And you thought Sheldon was a dork. Compared to Shelbert, he's a rockstar.

I rolled my eyes. Just peachy. Why is it that whenever I think my day can't get worse, it somehow does?

With Shelbert as my lab partner, one of two things was bound to happen. 1. Shelbert breaks a beaker, flask, or other piece of glassware... or 2. Shelbert spills a chemical, probably on me or the table. Now, of course, he could also ruin our lab, swallow a poisonous compound, or inadvertently cause an explosion or form a cloud of poisonous gas by doing the experiment wrong. I was lucky that Shelbert just broke a couple empty beakers before I took over completely, insuring that he was a full five feet away before starting. Midway through, Mr. Hennessey came over to me, asking why I was late and what Shelbert was doing. I lied and said that Shelbert was doing calculations (I'm much better at math), and told him "Tanya" for the first one. That one he got.

That's how well-known her obsession is. Even my ridiculously out-of-touch chemistry teacher who still uses a typewriter and thinks Microsoft is a kind of fabric knows about it.

Anyway, with Shelbert out of commission, I quickly finished the lab without any incident. I'd already done a million titration labs, albeit not with these chemicals. Acids this concentrated are very hard to find outside of chemistry supply warehouses, even on eBay. I was the only one to finish, so I did the math quickly and supplied Shelbert with the answers. Finally free to relax as I wished, I set my head down on the table and promptly fell into a dead sleep.

I woke up a minute after the bell rang. Unbelievably, no one had woken me up. Thanks a lot, Shelbert! I basically did the lab for him, and he doesn't even have the courtesy to wake me up! I rubbed at my eyes and sat up in my seat, suddenly aware that Lizzie was talking to Mr. Hennessey. She was holding a paper and looked nervous. "So, really, Mr. Hennessey, isn't that right?" He shook his head and told her it wasn't. "That?" Another head shake before advising her to learn how to balance double replacement reactions. I winced a little. Lizzie paled and looked pretty downtrodden. While Mr. H was one of my favorite teachers, he could be kind of cutting in his criticism. "Mr. Hennessey, please... I got a C minus on the last test. This'll push me over to a D. Can't you help me or something?" Lizzie begged.

They don't let you play sports if you've got a D in any class, and Lizzie was very fond of basketball (in addition, of course, to soccer, swimming, and ice hockey). I had no idea it had gotten that bad for her. She'd definitely never told me about it. Unfortunately, Mr. Hennessey merely shook his head. "I don't have time to help you, Miss McDonald. I suggest you find yourself a tutor or else try harder," he muttered rather icily. He had an obvious bias against athletes, whom he thought were loafers who got by on physical prowess and were no better than cavemen. Lizzie's shoulders slumped in defeat. I knew that she tried very, very hard indeed, staying up all through the night doing his homework. The issue wasn't that she didn't try. She just needed a little help.

Lizzie looked like she was on the verge of tears, so I decided to rescue her. Nobly I rose, gathering my books, and stepped in, lightly grabbing her arm. "Come on, Liz," I murmured soothingly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "Let's get you to History." I flashed Mr. H a mock apologetic smile and whisked a very grateful Lizzie out of the room. Her eyes were dangerously filled with tears, and she was sniffling. I sat her down on the miraculously deserted stairs, seating myself next to her, and I found myself hoping she didn't cry. I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it, Lizzie. I can help you. I can tutor you in Chemistry... It's no trouble," I volunteered sincerely, trying to comfort her.

Compared to what everyone else was asking of me, that small favor would be easy. Besides, Lizzie's given me so much... She looked up at me gratefully, but it was like she didn't believe me. She raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to do that," she interjected suddenly, surprising the both of ourselves. "It's got to be hard, too... I can find someone else..." I shot Lizzie a look. I'm the one that lives with her and sees her everyday. It can't get any more convenient and easy than that.

I put my hand on her knee, turning so that I could look at her head on. "Don't find anyone else, Lizzie. I'll do it," I stated firmly. Lizzie looked down, shaking her head, refusing. Why won't she just let me help her? I plunked my books down next to me on the step, using my other hand to tilt her chin up so she would look at me. Lizzie was crying a little. She's been under a lot of pressure lately with sports, grades, extracurriculars, the university application process, and our science project. Lizzie has good grades and all, but it's like Dad and Nora expect her to be Casey. I can relate to that. I mean, I'm stressed too, but no one expects much out of me academically. Dad just expects me to be a slacker just like him and Derek, so I'm supposed to go to parties and have a really active social life. I haven't gone out on a date in over a year, and I despise parties; I know what it's like to have them look at me and wonder what went wrong.

I can prank just as good as Derek if not better, though, and we share a sense of humor... so I like to think I'm not a total reject. I sighed. I'm not exactly good around tears, but I've got sisters. I'm used to it by now. I gently wiped her eyes with the back of my hand. She hates crying in public, and I knew she'd be embarrassed later. "Come on, Lizzie. We middle siblings have to stick together, remember?" Lizzie cracked a smile, and I smiled in turn. "Besides, where else are you going to find someone who knows as much about chemistry as I do?" I pointed out a bit smugly, doing my best Derek impression. Lizzie knocked her shoulder into mine a little playfully, amused by my mocking cockiness. I sobered up a little, grabbing her hand. "I won't let you down. I promise. Even if I have to do your homework for you, you will pass that class with a decent grade. I swear it," I avowed. Ecstatic and feeling far better, Lizzie hugged me tightly.

Rather emotive of me for the middle of the hallway, but Tanya had already declared her love for me there. I don't like to admit it, but I'm even softer at heart than Derek is. I'm just a nice guy. I can't really help it. After all, I've never been the one who has trouble expressing his emotions. Admittedly, we stayed hugging on the stairs for a lot longer than we probably should have. I was just glad I had the old Lizzie back. Lizzie was the one to pull away. She looked a bit nervous but cleared her throat and spoke nonetheless. "There's this rumor going around that you're gay," she blurted out suddenly.

She just said it, told me, didn't imply anything. Well, honestly, I wasn't that surprised to hear it. It's just one more thing, though, isn't it? I smiled wryly. "Well, obviously they're nuts. Tanya made out with me in the hallway today," I remarked airily. Lizzie raised an eyebrow, but I just shrugged. I don't know what she sees in me either. "I mean, can you think of a guy more violently heterosexual than me?" I quipped sarcastically. Lizzie laughed and said other than Derek, no. She knows that I'm straight (because of those cold shower years and the magazines she found under my mattress), which kind of stops the rumors. So I'm either homosexual or in love with my sister according to these people. Shows exactly how well they know me.

"Oh. Jamie still thinks I stole you from him," I commented with an amused smirk. Lizzie's eyes widened, obviously wondering where Jamie would get such an idiotic idea. He just believes everything he hears.

"Did he say something to you?" Lizzie asked strangely urgently. The smirk dropped right off my face. Was Lizzie hiding something from me? I shrugged noncommittally. It didn't exactly take a genius to notice he was still in love with her, but obviously I couldn't tell her that. Seeing the look on my face, Lizzie tried to forget whatever had come over her, but I wasn't entirely convinced. She laughed, leaning against me. "It would be you, wouldn't it?" Lizzie mused. She paused, and I suddenly realized that we were all alone in the hallway. I was late for class, but this time I didn't care. My sister needed me. "Well, I guess there's a grain of truth in that. I'd much rather date you than Jamie," Lizzie murmured softly, flashing me a smile. I knew it was true, of course, but I felt a little jolt nonetheless. "You know," Lizzie whispered conspiratorially, "some people think we're secretly dating."

Given the fact that neither of us have dated for a year, that theory almost seems plausible. Until one takes into account the fact that she's in love with my brother. As for me, well, I just haven't found the right girl yet. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. "Weird," I said somewhat distractedly.

"I know, right?" Lizzie nodded, and I stood up. I helped her up like the gentleman I am and bent down to pick up my books. Not one to miss a perfect opportunity (and I thought I was the opportunist!), Lizzie kicked my ass. Literally. She kicked me in the ass, and I fell down. Then she walked off to class, giggling at me. "I'll see you at home, Eddie!"

I grimaced. Fortunately, the kick didn't hurt. It was just a light kick, which I was grateful for. Lizzie is, after all, the captain of the soccer team. I like to think she knows what she's doing. If she wanted to do some damage, she easily could've. My frown had nothing to do with her kicking me; it had to do with her calling me by that detestable nickname. She knows full well I hate being called Eddie, and besides, I'll be back here around four or five to pick her up from practice. I couldn't even really bring myself to be mad at her, though. Lizzie always knew how to cheer me up, always knew when I was having a rough day. I exhaled deeply, thinking of ways to get Lizzie back, and walked off to the drama class my counselor had forced me into because she decided I was "too overloaded with math and science". The day was suddenly a whole lot better.

Loren ;*

Reviews are highly appreciated. Especially since I have less incentive to post considering I'm depleting my supply of already written chapters. ;) Or just say what you think or whatever. Thanks!


	3. Entanglement

This chapter's a bit shorter than the others... chapter length really varies... but I think you'll like it. Poor guy. He gets so tormented. Anyways, I guess this happens on the same day of the last chapter, only at night/in the middle of the morning on the next day. Hm, um, I don't own Life with Derek or anything related to it. And seriously, guys, there need to be more Lizzie/Edwin fics! Anyways, thanks for all your lovely reviews!

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**Entanglement:** a phenomenon in which the states of two or more objects are bound together in such a way that one cannot be properly described without mentioning the other(s), even though the objects may be physically separated.

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I was so exhausted I went to sleep at ten that night. I'd managed to write the first three paragraphs of my paper, do my homework, and help Lizzie with her Chemistry, so overall, I went to bed feeling very productive. I well deserved that rest. It wasn't storming when I went to sleep, but it had started somewhere after twelve. However, it didn't bother me. I sleep like a log, and when I'm out, I'm out. So I was sleeping quite peacefully and warm in my bed when she came in the room.

Since I was completely knocked out, I didn't hear her footsteps coming up the stairs, the low squeak of my door opening, or the swish of her clothing as she slipped inside my room. I didn't even hear the sound of her bare feet padding towards me.

I was rudely awakened by her pulling back my blankets and sheets, nudging my shoulder so I'd move. The crashes and flashes of thunder and lightning registered dimly in my ears, but I paid them little mind. I didn't budge at first because I wasn't even half awake. So she pushed me, but it was like moving a wooden board. "Move over!" Lizzie hissed, panic in her voice. I disobeyed. Still, she managed somehow to push my mostly unconscious form over far enough in the bed that she was able to slide in next to me, pulling the covers up over the both of us. The feeling of her skin was what really woke me up.

She felt like ice.

I opened my eyes sleepily, blinking, letting my eyes adjust. "I'm scared." Sure enough, Lizzie was by my side. I was only slightly surprised to see her. When we were younger, Lizzie had this thing about storms. She hates the sound of thunder, and lightning terrifies her. She used to come in my room and force me to move over so she could sleep with me all the time when we were little. Up until that moment, though, she hadn't come in for a long time, so I thought she'd gotten over it. I knew she still didn't like storms, but I never thought she was still afraid of them. Apparently, I was wrong, because Lizzie was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

She snuggled up to my body, craving warmth. I was a bit cold from the contact, but I didn't mind. I just wrapped my arms around her like I always did. Lizzie shuddered gratefully, curling up into a little ball. "You're so warm," she murmured dazedly, teeth chattering slightly as she spoke. I took a good look at her then, as best as I could, given that I had only the moonlight. Her hair was a mess of tangled curls, her skin clammy and cool, her eyes shut tightly. She was wearing a worn and torn white t-shirt with a green collar that had once belonged to me. It hung off one shoulder. Since I'm not that much taller than Lizzie, the shirt was short on her, ending a little below her underwear. Her legs were bare.

As she got warmer, she slowly uncoiled from the ball she'd curled herself into and started easing over to me. Eventually she rolled over so that she was on top of me. Her head rested in the crook of my neck, her fingers skimmed my sides, her legs tangled with mine. I could feel practically everything through the thin shirt; it was as if she wasn't wearing anything at all. And she still shook every time thunder crashed overhead, which felt even more wrong. She drastically shifted her hips, unintentionally rubbing against me. I groaned quietly. That definitely did not feel right.

I scowled, feeling very uncomfortable. What, does she think I'm Derek? A particularly loud clap of thunder sounded overhead, and Lizzie latched on to me tighter, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her fingernails dug into my skin. She pressed against me desperately, shuddering in fear. Lizzie was way too close for my comfort. She's as good as blood-related to me, but she's still a girl and I'm a guy. She adjusted her hips again, tossing and turning so that I had to hold her tighter just to keep her in place. I bit my lip, suddenly aware just how bad this idea was. I couldn't just kick her out, though.

Despite my interference, she continued to rock back and forth... no matter how much I tried to immobilize her. The more she moved, the more she brushed against me. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, to say the least. A guy can only take so much before he snaps. No matter how much I tried to keep Lizzie still, she continued to writhe and wiggle. It was so wrong, what she was doing to me, that it had to be some kind of sin. But, damn, if it didn't feel so amazingly good. Too good for my stepsister.

It's been a while, okay? A lot longer than I'd like to admit, but it's not like I want to get a communicable disease. This is not my fault, even though it's so very wrong. Maybe if Lizzie could stay still for one minute, I wouldn't be having this problem! Every guy has his breaking point; that one point where he can no longer stand around and do nothing but has to be stirred into action. As Lizzie ground against me (If I didn't know better, I'd think that it was deliberate and that she was enjoying it), and my eyes rolled back into my head, I knew I'd reached that point.

Clearly I had to extricate myself from the situation or else I would do something monumentally stupid. But how? I had little time to think, so I mostly reminded myself of the fact that she was my sister. My sister, my sister, like Marti, incest, not right. Naturally, that didn't work. I ran over the choices in my head: wake Lizzie up and say hello to awkwardness, do something to try and relieve the tension (very dangerous), or leave. I never claimed they were good or sane choices. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have much of a choice. Lizzie's arms were wound too tightly around my waist for me to even move. She sighed dreamily. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Edwin," she whispered in a voice so husky with sleep and something else that I almost lost it.

What would you do without me, Liz? Toy with Jamie instead? Isn't she lucky I have more fortitude. The irritated thought quickly flitted out of my mind. I was forced instead to think determinedly of every unpleasant, unsexy thing that came to mind. Finally, a small eternity later, Lizzie stopped her feverish twisting and thrusting. I was about to explode, so I felt relieved... but only slightly. There was still that desire in my veins that was awfully hard-pressed to go away. So I laid there instead, staring up at the ceiling blankly, thinking of science and my family and anything that would make the bad thoughts go away.

The urge subsided a little, but it didn't completely disappear. It was still there, under the surface, but not an all-consuming need. After that, I kept staring at the ceiling, suddenly unable to sleep, no matter how tired I was. My bed felt like a tomb to me: cold, uninviting, and hard. Every time I tried to close my eyes, they shot back open again. Once again, Lizzie was keeping me up. I just felt so damn guilty for thinking of Lizzie like that... She's my sister. I tried to tell myself it could happen to anyone at anytime anywhere, and that it was physiologically perfectly normal... But I didn't believe it; I knew the truth. It's not okay. I'm a freak. It's wrong. Even animals don't... breed... with their siblings. Even they have mechanisms that prevent them from doing so... Healthy, normal, sane people do not lust after their siblings. They do not even contemplate having sex with said siblings like I have just done, since I just admitted it.

But, God, she was completely driving me crazy! My sister should not have moves like that, let alone use them on _me _in her sleep. Seriously, something must be wrong with Lizzie too if she keeps coming on to me at night and never mentions it in the morning. Okay, okay... Lizzie is _not _coming on to me, and if it seems like she is, it's just because she wants Derek or a warm body next to her. No, no... Lizzie's not like that. How do you know that, huh? You used to think you weren't like that, and less than an hour ago you were fully ready to... Clearly this whole thing has shaken me up so much that I'm hearing voices in my head. That is definitely a bad sign. I think I'm going crazy.

Of course you are, Edwin... You wanted practically wanted to f—I can't think that. I can't think it or it'll really be true. Here's what happened. I had a moment of weakness, like anyone would, because of the friction. Friction leads to heat. Simple particle motion. That's all. I'm a red-blooded male, and... There's an attractive, scantily-clad girl in my bed. I'm not blind to that. Any other guy would've... I'm really better than them because I didn't...

My thoughts raced on like this for well over an hour. I forcibly blocked all thoughts out, forgetting everything, and screwed my eyes shut. I fell asleep some time later, utterly exhausted from my exercises in guilt and self-control. I woke up a few hours later when it was light out, feeling dirty and ashamed. To my surprise, Lizzie was still asleep, in my bed, and even further on top of me, if that was possible. Her legs were open wide and wrapped around mine, her head below my chin, her hands positioned on my chest and stomach. The t-shirt was pushed up around her breasts, meaning I could feel far more of her skin (surprisingly soft) than I should have.

My left hand was resting on the curve of her back, while the right one was on her posterior. Realizing this, I flushed and moved my hand, bringing it up to pull down the t-shirt instead. She shifted her hips once again oh so alluringly. It was as if my fingers had a mind of their own. They fingered the waistband of Lizzie's underwear. My thumbs slipped under the waistband of their own accord, brushing lightly against her hipbones three times before I knew what I was doing. She made a small noise of contentment, scooting forward in her sleep. Horrified, I abruptly withdrew my fingers as if they'd been burned and hastily tugged down the t-shirt, wishing it would cover more of her.

My frantic movements woke her mere moments later. She yawned, opened her eyes blearily, and just stared at me blankly for a moment. Then she raised her head to look down at me, pursing her lips. "Why are your hands on my ass, Edwin?" she questioned bluntly, not bothering to mince words. Embarrassed at being caught and more than a little flushed, I supplied that her t-shirt had slipped up and that I was merely pulling it down for her. Lizzie smirked, shooting me a wink. "Sure, Ed. I know my ass is perfect, but you really ought to ask before you touch it," she remarked amusedly. I gaped at her nonchalance. Casey would've killed me for that. Normally Lizzie might have done the same thing but not today. Wow, Lizzie was in a good mood. That was when I _finally _took my hands off her ass. Oops.

She sighed, putting her head back down on my chest. She smiled then, I could feel her stretched lips pressing against my skin, almost like a kiss. The contact distracted me, made me feel like I was itchy all over, but especially where her lips rested. "It's been a long time since I've done this," she said, turning to look at me, "... too long." I shrugged, glad at least that I could no longer feel the vibrations against my chest. What could I say to that? She trailed a long finger down my chest, forcing me to draw in a shallow breath. Lizzie didn't notice.

To my further distraction, she started tracing circles on my stomach. I stiffened at the touch, as if feeling her breath on my bare chest wasn't bad enough. My throat was suddenly dry, so I swallowed over the lump in order to speak. "Why?" I asked, even though I knew full well why. I guess I wanted to hear Lizzie say it because, as much as I hate to admit it, things really have changed between us. I'd have to be blind to say otherwise.

She shrugged, apparently oblivious to the changes. Her finger kept on tracing those invisible circles on my stomach, doing little figure-eights, one after the other. Infinity. She never noticed the muscles tensing beneath her touch. Man, I really need to get laid... not now of course, but sometime soon before I get really desperate. She draped her arm over my stomach, lips brushing against my chest. "I was afraid to come in here. Because it would be weird. Different," she admitted finally, unwillingly. She didn't look at me, and it seemed like she was silently acknowledging that it was weird and very, very different.

I knew that it _was _different, though, as much as I avoided acknowledging it.

"Different how?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself. Damn my eternal curiosity. That had been the very question I hadn't wanted to ask. An exasperated Lizzie gave me a look, obviously not wanting to answer. Nevertheless, I held my ground, staring at her until she gave in. I truly did want to know.

She shrugged, running her fingers down my side, smoothing over my ribs with her fingertips. I sucked in a breath, but Lizzie was completely oblivious. It was like she was in another world, completely unaware of what she was doing. I guess she was distracted. "Oh, I don't really know," she murmured dimly, fluffing her hair. "You're different... I'm different. We've grown up, filled out... I guess," Lizzie replied vaguely. It was a reason, and a good one, but I wanted something specific. She sighed heavily, rubbing her cheek against my chest. Something inside me tightened at the motion, somewhat touched. "I was worried that we wouldn't be friends anymore, really," she answered finally, wrapping her arms around me as if grateful I was there.

I put my hand on her head and smoothed her hair. "That will never be an issue, Lizzie," I replied quietly. She turned, lifting her head off my chest to look up at me. My lips twitched into a fond smile. "You know you're my best friend, Liz. You've been my best friend since I was eleven, and that isn't going to change any time soon," I said soothingly. Honestly, when I think about the future, I get a little scared because I don't know if we'll still be friends then. Things are going to change when we get older, and we won't be able to be as close as we are now. We may never be this close again. I honestly don't know what I'd do without her. I hadn't noticed, but I was absentmindedly stroking Lizzie's hair.

Lizzie smiled at me radiantly. She pushed herself up, stretching, so that she could look out the window. The t-shirt rode up slightly, revealing a flash of white cotton and a strip of skin. I averted my eyes out of respect. Lizzie was straddling me, so this was particularly hard. Her smile fell slightly as she looked down at me. "I guess I should get going," she muttered, sounding disappointed. I couldn't do much more than nod slightly. She suddenly looked down and realized that she was straddling me. She laughed nervously, flushing a flattering crimson, but she didn't get off of me. "Sorry." I was too busy wondering if she realized that I'd slept with the last girl who'd straddled me in a _much _less platonic way.

Suddenly Lizzie, still red, rolled off of me. I found myself frowning and even... missing her warmth. As awkward as it was, I felt like I'd lost something. She sighed dreamily, relaxing on her back for a moment. She waited a moment before rising and slipping out from under the covers. I sat up, leaning back on my elbows, watching her. Then Lizzie did something that surprised me. She bent down and kissed me softly on the mouth, but only for a minute. Then she pulled away, smiling at me. The light danced in her eyes. "Thanks, Ed." I think I was gaping at her, but Lizzie didn't seem to notice. "I really owe you one." She turned and left.

At first, I merely stared at the door, still in disbelief. I touched my lips, still turning it over in my mind. Lizzie had just kissed me. Since when does she do that? She's never done the platonic family kiss thing before, and we're definitely not a family that kisses on the mouth, thank you. So why did she do that, and what in the name of Fermi does it mean? I touched my lips once more, wondering why they felt funny. Then her words hit me. I hadn't been listening at the time, too stunned to even really think, but they came at me again. I knew why she'd thanked me, but what did she owe me? The way she said it made me think she was talking about some sort of favor, but she said it right after kissing me.

A guy's bound to get a little mixed up in this situation, I should think. Then I remembered all too clearly how she'd interrupted my sleep, kept me up half the night, horribly turned on and unable to do anything about it (come to think of it, I was still a little wound up), and then done her best to make me feel completely uncomfortable. I know she wants my brother, but using me to fill in is just pathetic. Not that Lizzie was doing that because of course she wasn't. I'm probably just reading into things because my mind is all screwy right now. Damn right, though, she did owe me one! I blanched in realization, trying to deny it, but I'd thought it nonetheless.

Clearly there is something horribly, horribly wrong with me. Especially since every time I close my eyes, I get this picture of her on top of me, bucking her hips and sliding up against me, and it feels so good... I really don't want to finish that thought. This is so wrong. Wronger still, though, that she won't and doesn't remember any of it, so I get the lovely sensation that I'm losing my mind, and she's none the wiser.

I have really got to get a girlfriend. Seriously. Before I lose my mind and do something very stupid like actually act on these irrational, incestuous thoughts I've been having lately. I shuddered at the thought and got out of bed, feeling guilty and dirty all over again.

And I have a nasty feeling that I know full well why Lizzie hasn't come to my bed for a while.

Loren ;*

Go on, tell me what you think!


	4. Sublimation

Okay, so this chapter's a bit longer than the last one. It's funny... I always thought it was a lot longer than it apparently is. A bit less eventful, too, but it really gets into the background info... meaning the past, of course... and maybe Ed's not as reliable a narrator as he seems, eh? ;) And also what exactly people think about Ed and Lizzie. And kind of how Edwin's different. Because he is.

Oh, and technically I don't own Dan either, since in this one episode from the first season Edwin's talking on the phone and says something like, "Bye, Dan!" Or whatever. So I made Dan his best friend. Because they do need best friends. Um, that's about it.

I don't own Life With Derek and all that entails. Nor do I own other things mentioned in this chapter.

Oh, and thanks for all the reviews! They're really super!

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**Sublimation:** 1. The state change occurring when a solid becomes a gas, bypassing an intermediate liquid phase. 2. A defense mechanism where the expression of impulses and instincts, most frequently sexual urges, are transformed or channeled into other efforts in order to become more socially acceptable.

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Seeing as I was in quite a dilemma, what with all those rumors flying around and the whole secretly-lusting-after-my-stepsister thing... I decided to get some advice. Now, normally I go to Dad or Derek for advice, sometimes Casey or Nora, and a lot of the time I go to Lizzie. Clearly none of these people are options because a. Derek is trying to hook me up with Lizzie, b. Dad and Nora know nothing and would not help, c. Casey would flip her lid, and d. my whole problem revolves around Lizzie.

So I went to my best friend, Dan, instead. I seriously needed to get some aggression out, so I told him I'd meet him at the hockey rink. I am no athlete, but I was shooting almost as well as Derek in my frustrated state when Dan came up behind me. Strangely enough, the rink was completely deserted. Everyone else was probably out eating lunch. Dan tapped me on the shoulder, and I almost slugged him. "Hey, Dan," I managed breathlessly. Dan gave me a queer look and waved.

"So, Ed, what's the problem?"

I sighed and turned around to face him, leaning on my hockey stick. I wracked my brain for a way to explain it. Obviously I couldn't tell him anything about this morning, but I had to tell him something. "It's those damn rumors, Dan! Everyone either thinks I'm gay or in love with my sister!" I snapped suddenly, not realizing how furious I really was. At first, Dan merely blinked.

"Why on Earth would they think you're in love with Marti? Isn't she like... eleven or thirteen or something?" he asked, looking confused. I could've smacked him in the forehead for that, but I settled for shooting him a dark look. Then he nodded, understanding with a burst of clarity. "Oh. You mean Lizzie." I nodded abruptly, rolling my eyes at him and turning back to the goal. I hit the puck with particular force, thinking of my meddling, pushy brother who refused to take no for an answer, even when it actually meant no. Damn you, Derek. This whole thing is his fault, anyway. I mean, I know it's Casey's shtick to blame Derek for the world's problems, but none of this would've happened if Lizzie wasn't in love with him.

Dan whistled. "Nice goal," he remarked. I shrugged indifferently. "You know, I would've almost thought you were Derek Venturi's little brother with the way you scored there," Dan quipped with a smirk. Cross, I shoved Dan, making him fall flat on his ass on the ice. It had been a long-standing joke between us that I was absolutely nothing like any of my siblings. I was neither athletic and charming like Derek nor artistic and wild like Marti. I wasn't particularly eco-conscious (or, again, athletic) like Lizzie, nor was I organized, anal-retentive, dramatic, and graceful like Casey. Sure, I look a bit like Derek, and I play pranks like Derek, and I have a head for business like him... and maybe I'm studious like Casey, and curious and scientific like Lizzie. And okay, so maybe Lizzie and I have the same basic attitude, but I've always been an outcast, even in my own family. Sometimes I honestly wonder if I wasn't switched at birth.

My friend shook his head and stood up somewhat awkwardly. "So you want to stop the rumors, right?" Dan asked, dusting himself off. I nodded impatiently. Duh! Dan looked at me and frowned. "Well, you're not exactly helping yourself out, Edwin. What's everyone supposed to think when you haven't dated anyone since October of last year? You're not exactly known for being very tough, and you reject easy girls like Tanya, so of course they're going to say you're gay," he explained shortly. I scowled at him, offended but also fully aware that he was right.

I sighed. "But the Lizzie thing. What about that?" I interjected. Dan looked down at the ice almost nervously.

He shook his head. "Come on, man. You really don't want me to talk to you about that," he replied cagily. I shot him a glare that said I full well did. Once again, Dan shook his head, but I advanced towards him, making him decide to quickly change his mind. He still looked like he was worried I wasn't going to like what he had to say, but he spoke anyway. "I don't see why you're making me tell you this when you already know most of it," Dan whined. I glowered at him until he continued. He sighed, resigned. "Okay, fine. Here it is. You and Lizzie are scary close. Closer than siblings should be, and you live together. She hasn't dated anyone since last year either, and it's a bit suspicious that you both stopped dating at around the same time. Two horny teenagers left alone together at night in close proximity, Ed. You do the math."

He'd said exactly what I knew he would, but I was still mad at him for saying it. Truthfully, it was pretty damn obvious, and I'd be suspicious if it wasn't me. I did, however, want to point out the fact that Marti's room was right next door to Lizzie's, and Derek's room was right across the hall, but I knew he'd just bring up the seclusion of the attic. Dan wasn't done, however. There was this strange, nervous look in his eyes as he went on. "Plus, there's something about the way you act towards Lizzie that doesn't settle right with people," he continued anxiously. I frowned, motioning for him to go on. What did he mean? I don't act weird around Lizzie, do I? She has to be the person I'm most comfortable around, after all. Dan couldn't look at me. "It's like... the other day, when the guys were saying how hot and sporty Lizzie was, and how they wanted to do her or whatever," Dan began, briefly meeting my gaze.

I remembered the day with quite a bit of clarity. Of course I hadn't stood for that. I'd wanted to deck all of them, but I'd settled for just correcting them instead. "Now, see, most guys would've said to lay off talking about their sister or would've been grossed out. One might've even gotten pissed and started a fight to defend his sister's honor. But not you, Edwin. You just shook your head, as calmly as can be, and said... 'You're wrong. Lizzie's beautiful, not hot.' Then you proceeded to say that she should be loved instead of screwed or whatever. That doesn't sound weird to you?" Dan pointed out, raising an eyebrow. I bit my lip, realizing that it sounded just as weird as Dan had said it did.

So I looked down instead, avoiding his gaze. I don't know. It made sense at the time. I just didn't like how they were objectifying her like that. She's not some sex object. She's a real girl with feelings and thoughts and emotions. Lizzie deserves better. None of them ever seem to get how much she means to me. I only want the best for her. Besides, Lizzie actually is beautiful. Since when is it so wrong to say that someone should love her instead of screw her? I'm her brother, damn it, and I'm supposed to protect her from that. I just don't get why telling the truth means I'm some freak pervert who likes his sister. Unfortunately for me, Dan seemed determined to prove a point. "Okay... If you really think there's nothing going on there, who was the first girl you ever saw naked? Not counting family," Dan questioned with a triumphant air.

I rolled my eyes. What a dumb question. "Some chick in a movie or one of Derek's pornos, probably," I retorted caustically. Dan frowned. Clearly this was not the answer he was expecting. Seriously, though, what guy isn't going to say something like that?

Then his eyes lit up, having found a way to get a better answer out of me. "In real life." Fine.

I made a big show of rolling my eyes at him, turning to the goal and scoring easily. "I don't know, Dan. The first girl I ever had sex with, I guess," I muttered tightly. Honestly, I didn't like to think about it that much. It happened in a bathroom at a party when I was fifteen. She was drunk; I was drunk. I barely even remember anything about it, much less the girl's name or face. All I remember is that she was a sloppy kisser who left lots and lots of hickeys so that I had to practically wear a turtleneck for a month. Well, actually, I wore turtlenecks for maybe a week, but still... I had to borrow them from Lizzie, and that was kind of awkward.

I also remember that she was absolutely lousy, and around my age, so it was probably her first time too. When I say lousy, I mean that I've had more satisfying one-on-one sessions than that, and I've certainly had much better. And I regret it immensely. Dan looked vaguely irritated. "Lizzie and Casey don't count as family," he said, knowing he had me there.

They do to me, I thought. I realized what he was getting at, though. So I nodded. "Fine. Lizzie was the first girl I saw naked in real life," I admitted reluctantly, looking away. I was trying to avoid remembering it. It had been for only a second back when I was in seventh grade, but the image had stuck with me for quite some time. Especially during all those cold showers I'd taken. I knew what Dan was going to say, but I was prepared. "But before you say anything, I was like, twelve... And it's not like I did it on purpose. It was only because Derek tricked me into walking in on her in the bathroom. That kind of stuff happens when you live with someone. Jeez. It wasn't like I was staring or anything," I growled irritably, skating up into a high velocity swing. I scored yet another goal. Hm, maybe I should try playing hockey.

On second thought, though, I happen to like all my teeth where they are. Besides, I'd also walked in on Casey like, five times, because of Derek tricking me. That time with Lizzie he'd said the bathroom was free. I got so far as opening the door and walking inside before I saw her. Then she screamed, and I screamed and ran out, shutting the door behind me. She wasn't even that developed anyway. I barely saw anything... except her smooth, milky white skin and the droplets of water beading on her... Okay, I really need to stop thinking of naked pubescent Lizzie. It's wrong. Frustrated with myself, I swiftly shot another goal. I never knew I was so good at playing hockey.

Dan was smirking like he'd proven a point. He hadn't, of course. I lived with Lizzie, so statistically the chances are higher that I'll run into her in some stage of undress. Some help Dan was turning out to be. "The first girl you ever kissed?" Dan inquired slyly.

I was stupid enough to reply without thinking. "Lizzie," I said automatically. Okay, I know how that looks. I'm not stupid. But it's the truth. Lizzie's also the first girl I ever French-kissed and the first person I ever made out with... just made out with, though. I didn't really grope her or anything. Dan grinned triumphantly, but he hadn't proved that I liked Lizzie. Okay, I once had a giant crush on her, but that stopped ages ago, and I never was stupid enough to tell anyone about it. And maybe now I'm attracted to her a little, but I haven't dated anyone in a long time, so I'd be attracted to just about any girl, right? Plus, there's a perfectly logical explanation for why Lizzie's the first girl I kissed.

However, it's a long one, and I really don't want to bother with telling Dan because it's personal, private, and I've never told another soul. So I shrugged and gave him the stock answer that was true enough, but not quite the real deal. "Curiosity." Naturally, Dan didn't buy it, but it really was completely innocent, and I'd almost entirely forgotten about it.

So here's the real truth... It was back when Lizzie was still dating that tool Jamie, the summer between grades eight and nine. As I remember, it was unseasonably hot that whole summer, and our air conditioning was broken. Derek was always working or hanging out with people, and Casey was tutoring kids while Marti was at day camp. This meant that Lizzie and I were usually alone all day until five or six, sometimes later. We had a business of our own going, so that usually kept us busy. If not, we hopped the fence and swam in the Davis' pool or hosed ourselves down in the yard. Often we went anywhere with air conditioning. Sometimes, on rather rare occasions, we separated and hung out with our friends (or, in Lizzie's case, Jamie).

Now, by that point, she and Jamie had been going out for a while, like a year or two. They hadn't even kissed on the lips, though. I knew Jamie had tried, but Lizzie had studiously rebuffed every one of his advances. I didn't know why until Lizzie approached me one day. I was sitting on the new black leather couch, which was sticking to my back and thighs unpleasantly. The old one was down in the basement. Lizzie came in the room, wearing a particularly skimpy (and flattering) outfit. She strode towards me as confident as can be and asked me something I'll never forget so long as I live. I'll never forget it because I've never known anyone with that much guts. "Have you ever kissed a girl, Edwin?" Lizzie implored in a low drawl.

For an eternity, I just stared at her. Had she really just asked me that? Then I regained myself eventually and shook my head no. "No," I replied slowly, pausing for deliberate effect. I wasn't embarrassed to tell her that. I told her almost everything then. "Why?" I swiped at my damp forehead, wishing fruitlessly that it wasn't so damn hot. I'd taken my shirt off and turned on the fan long ago, but I was still burning up.

Lizzie looked a little nervous then but not exactly shy. Her eyes suddenly blazed. "Because I've never kissed a boy either, and I want to kiss you," she said even more plainly. This time I did actually did gape at her, unable to believe that the girl of my dreams (then) wanted to kiss me. I thought I must've heard her wrong.

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed out of sheer disbelief.

A faint smile appeared on Lizzie's lips. She placed a hand on her hip, and I finally noticed how her skin was shiny with sweat. "You heard me," she rejoined saucily, coming towards me. Honestly, right then I didn't know what to do. My legs and arms felt like jelly, and I felt like I was just short of melting into the couch. Lizzie sighed. "Look, Jamie's been pressuring me a lot lately. He wants to go to the next level. And I've never done it before, so I thought what if I completely suck... And so I thought I might practice on y—with you," Lizzie explained, plopping down next to me on the couch. I stared at her for a solid minute before realizing she was talking about kissing, not sex. Oops. Let my mind run a little wild there. She batted her eyelashes at me pleadingly. "Pretty, pretty, _pretty _please, Edwin?" Lizzie begged, pouting just a little.

Even if I hadn't been completely infatuated with her then, I wouldn't have said no. I could never say no to Lizzie when she wanted something. Still, I was a mixture of emotions. I was thrilled because I'd get to kiss Lizzie soon, yet I was also disappointed because she was only doing it because of Jamie, not to mention nervous because it was my first kiss too. I sighed and gave in formally. "Okay. You can kiss me," I conceded, turning to face her. I kept the "all you want" to myself. I really fooled her with the way I said it, making it sound like a chore.

Lizzie's eyes widened in surprise, as if she thought I wouldn't agree and couldn't believe that I had. Then, after a moment, she looked excited. She was all set to kiss me right away, but I had to know something first. So when she leaned in, I pulled back, holding her away from me. "But before I do, Lizzie, I need to know something," I said meaningfully, looking her in the eyes. Lizzie nodded dumbly, staring rather fixedly at my lips. "Why me?" Lizzie pursed her lips and seriously contemplated it, looking away from me.

She shrugged after a long pause, unable to meet my gaze. Was she guilty or embarrassed or what? Eventually, though, Liz answered me. She sure took her sweet time thinking, though. "Because you're my best friend. And I trust you. And I know you'll never tell anyone or try anything. Plus... you're kinda cute, and... you think I'm pretty enough, right? And, oh, I don't know! There's just something abou-" Lizzie rambled endearingly.

Or, at least, she did until I cut her off with a kiss. On some level, I was flattered that she'd chosen me. After all, even if she was doing it for Jamie's benefit, she had chosen me over him. It meant a lot that she trusted me so much. No one had ever really put any faith in me before. It was that never try anything bit that got me, though, because I wanted to try something so badly I could taste it. But she had said I was cute, and that was something. The kiss went pretty excellently, if I do say so myself. To the risk of sounding like a girl, it was the absolute perfect first kiss.

It was really only a soft peck, and it didn't last very long. Lizzie was too surprised to kiss back much, and I was the one who broke the kiss, anxious and hoping she didn't regret telling me to do that. I waited for a reaction, staring at her with baited breath. Then Lizzie smiled brilliantly. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Wow. That was nice," she whispered breathlessly. The corners of her lips twitched into a smirk as she played with the hairs at the base of my neck. "You sure you haven't done that before?" she asked in a low, husky voice. I shook my head slowly.

I felt an embarrassed blush creeping over my cheeks, so I flashed her a roguish smile in an attempt to compensate. "How 'bout I show you how they do it in France?" I replied flirtatiously. Okay, corny, I know, but I was a scrawny fourteen-year-old who'd been dreaming of her since approximately sixth grade. Good lines were not in my vocabulary, and it wasn't as if Lizzie cared anyway.

Wow. Is this a pattern, her using me when she can't have who she really wants or whatever? If so, it's very wrong and creepy.

So I kissed her after that, and her mouth slid open to me like butter. It felt like a dream come true. I kissed her harder, more passionately than before. I guess I surprised the both of us, but Lizzie surprised me even more by doing this amazing thing with her tongue and grabbing my face, pulling me closer to her. That time, it was Lizzie who pulled away, gasping for breath. Me, well, I could care less if I died. As long as she was still kissing me I'd die a happy man. I just couldn't get enough of her. Now that I'd finally kissed her, it made me wonder how gutless and wussy and just plain stupid Jamie had to be to not just plant one on her. Lizzie smiled at me lopsidedly before the smile suddenly dropped off her face. She licked her lips thirstily. "Edwin, you know what you're doing. I'm sure you don't really need me for practice when you-" Lizzie said quite seriously.

Once again, I interrupted her with a kiss, feeling very satisfied. I kept kissing her until my lungs burned for air. Only then did I pull away. I flashed her a smile—Derek's smirk, now that I think about it. "Not so fast, Lizzie. I need lots and lots of practice, and you are just the girl to help me. Besides, I think you could definitely use a bit more practice before you face Jamie," I murmured seductively, still dazed. As the Boy Scouts say, "Be prepared." In reality, I wanted to keep kissing her for as long as I could manage it, and I didn't want her laying any of these moves on undeserving Jamie. Lizzie knew it too.

She grinned back at me before capturing my lips in a kiss yet again. And then, a few minutes later, she let me take off her shirt. Lizzie's not a slut. She was just hot, and she was wearing a bra or swimsuit anyway. Anyway, so that continued for practically the rest of the summer. Lizzie saw Jamie fewer and fewer times as the summer went on, and I never heard either of them mention kissing so I assumed that she was saving all her kisses for me. All Lizzie ever said to me about Jamie was how routine it was getting, but he was still such a good friend and so sweet, even if she did want to break it off with him. I didn't care much since I knew I had the upper hand. It felt good to be in control.

I swear, Lizzie and I made out anywhere and anytime we could that summer, as long as it didn't seem suspicious. We could barely keep our hands off of each other. It was intoxicating and fun, and it felt so disgustingly good I could barely stand it. Some days the urge to touch her practically overwhelmed me, especially when the family was home, preventing us from being alone together. Now that I think about it, it's a wonder I didn't have sex with her that summer. I wanted to, of course, and my hands wandered, occasionally brushing against forbidden spots, but it was never anything serious.

Then the summer ended, and it was cool again. Lizzie was like the weather. Whatever it was between us ended suddenly one day in the middle of September. It started when I slipped my hand between her legs at dinner. I was feeling particularly daring and hungry that night, so I pushed aside her underwear, brushing my fingers against the sensitive skin. She clenched her legs together tightly so that my hand was stuck there. She shook her head no, but I saw the yes in her eyes. I wiggled my fingers expertly, and Lizzie bit down hard on her bottom lip. Her skin was velvety soft and slippery.

She liked it, though. I could tell by the way she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, and the way she leaned back all the way in her chair. She was mostly silent, letting out a long sigh and a low moan I had to cough to drown out. Lizzie shot me a look, but I just kept on eating casually. I noticed Derek giving me a strange look across the table, but I could really care less at the time. I kept my hand right where it was and only removed it when I was done. Lizzie spread her legs, looking flushed. I smirked at her and ate ravenously, feeling rather pleased with myself.

After dinner, Lizzie stalked upstairs, dragging her with me into the Games Closet. It was a familiar hangout for us, but perhaps one of few places in that house where we hadn't made out. The minute we got in there, she locked the door behind us. I was kind of excited at that, thinking I might get lucky or something, but that wasn't what happened. The air was charged with tension. As soon as we got in there, she whirled around and slapped me hard across the face. "Who do you think you are, Ed? Touching me like that when I didn't want you to... at dinner, for crying out loud!" Lizzie snarled, looking like a wildcat.

I was ridiculously attracted to her at that moment, so I wasn't thinking so clearly. "I didn't hear you complaining, Liz. As a matter of fact, I think you liked it," I retorted perhaps a bit too cockily for Lizzie's taste. She rolled her eyes, looking thoroughly disgusted with me. Oddly enough, she was not embarrassed like I'd expected. I was right, and she knew that, but that didn't mean she was going to admit it. Lizzie's face was mildly pink, though, and she couldn't look at me straight. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

She scowled at me peevishly. "Just shut up, Edwin! Our _arrangement's _through," she replied crossly. I raised an eyebrow at her, smirking slowly. She had never called it that before—never even given it a name. Lizzie exhaled irritably, still glowering at me. "Well, that's what it was... Until you crossed that line today, Edwin. Besides, I've been meaning to go out with Jamie more oft-" she clarified. That was enough for me, thank you. I knew she was lying straight through her teeth.

"Oh, please, Lizzie! You seriously expect me to believe that? You _let _me do that... and you haven't even kissed Jamie on the mouth yet after three years of dating," I shot back quickly. I gave her a look that said more than any words she could offer in defense. Come on, letting your stepbrother feel you up when you won't even let your boyfriend kiss your lips? It doesn't take an advanced knowledge of probability to realize that doesn't add up. Lizzie closed her mouth because she really couldn't say anything to contradict me.

I sighed, though, and decided to accept it. No matter how I felt about Lizzie (and I was completely over the moon for her then), I wasn't going to make her do something she didn't want. I was disappointed, of course. It had almost seemed like she'd had feelings of some sort for me, at any rate. I'd liked to imagine that maybe, just maybe she did, and that someday we might... go out. Lizzie was leaving me with a lot of unanswered questions, and I couldn't help but feel like she was hiding something from me, but if that was the way she wanted to play...

"Fine. You want to end it because this freaks you out. Then it's done," I declared firmly. Lizzie's eyes widened in surprise. She clearly hadn't been expecting that. "Just one thing," I requested mysteriously. Lizzie pursed her lips, sending me a questioning glance. "A kiss." I grabbed her and planted my lips on hers, kissing her passionately before she could even protest. Lizzie fell back helpless against the shelves, knocking some things to the floor. I kissed her until I felt like I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, holding on, not letting her go until it was over. Then, panting, I turned on my heel and left her there, dizzy, claustrophobic, and speechless.

Derek would've been proud.

I never did find out why she kept it up for so long. I guess I was just a good kisser, and she'd never kissed anyone else. We made a secret, silent, mutual pact that day to never bring it up again, and we've kept that promise. I wasn't happy about it, but I got over it eventually. When she broke up with Jamie a few months later, I tried not to think it had something to do with me. Since I couldn't think about it, or even mention it, I shut up and forgot all about it until now. Despite that, thinking about it makes me blush horribly. I hate that. Derek never blushes.

Okay, yeah, now that I think about it, this sounds _exactly _as perverted as I feared it would. I guess I just really haven't thought about it since that night. I'd kind of forgotten all that had transpired, which made me feel slightly better. I guess I'd done worse to Lizzie as a kid. It was really just two curious kids kissing and... exploring. Not even that much of the latter, really. It was just a physical thing, though, back when I was so hormonal and frustrated I wanted to jump every girl in sight.

My thoughts were interrupted when a puck collided painfully with the side of my head. I turned to glower at Dan. Some friend he is. I rubbed my head. Dan raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me you did more than just kiss her," he muttered suspiciously. I full-on scowled at him and swerved to shoot a puck. It hit him in the stomach.

"Knock it off, man," I growled. "It was a long time ago. I was a kid then." Dan groaned, glaring back at me, managing to pull himself into a standing position. Now he knew not to push me. Hmm, I guess all that hockey "practice" with Derek rubbed off on me.

Dan was still trying to catch his breath, straightening fast but still clutching his stomach in pain. He sounded pretty winded, but he managed a laugh. "Who was the first girl you slept with?" He asked with a smirk, like he thought my answer was going to be Lizzie. It's not. I don't even remember her name.

I shot him a look, shooting the puck again. This time I missed. "It sure as hell wasn't Lizzie, if that's what you're asking. Besides, that's none of your business," I retorted swiftly. Dan frowned, unhappy his theory had been disproven. Although, if you take that in the literal sense, the answer is actually Lizzie. That's not, of course, what Dan has in mind.

He smirked. "Of course. A gentleman never kisses and tells," he exclaimed. I nodded shortly, aiming at the goal once again. I missed again. Apparently I don't have Derek's aptitude for hockey after all. Can't say I'm surprised; I've never been that athletic. A predatory, questioning gleam appeared in my friend's eyes. "What did she look like?" Dan asked eagerly, probably thinking that the girl either was Lizzie and I don't remember, or, at the very least, resembled her greatly.

I rolled my eyes, taking another shot. This time I hit the goal but didn't score. I swore under my breath, wondering why my aim seemed to be getting worse. "I don't remember!" I hissed, turning to shoot another goal. I came forward to shoot and wound up falling flat on my face. Ow. I rubbed my nose, stumbling to my feet after falling once or twice. I dusted myself off, feeling rather chilly from a combination of the ice and the cold sweat trickling down the back of my neck.

Dan skated up beside me, frowning slightly. He seemed to realize it was a touchy subject. "So," he inquired in a far more casual tone, "where is your stepsister anyway?" Lizzie and I usually went to the hockey rink together so she could practice for ice hockey. She likes to practice her moves on me (seems like a theme, doesn't it?), so I guess I've gradually gotten better at the sport. I looked up at Dan, wiping some flakes of ice off of my face and chin. Now that question I could actually answer. Feeling much more stable on my feet, I decided to try and score an easy goal. I skated up closer to my target, easily tapping the puck into the net.

"She's with some of her weird environmentalist friends, planning next year's Earth Day celebration. Lizzie's head of the committee, so she's in charge of everything. I think they're also having a meeting about next week's protest. They're "saving the whales" or something," I explained, rolling my eyes. Obviously I never took that attitude around Lizzie, who took matters of nature and the environment very seriously (she has always been a Biology nerd), but her eco-friends were creepy, smelly people. They did not at all resemble the nice Planeteers you see on cartoons. Her friends are, rather, militant tree-huggers.

It's not that I don't care about the environment because of course I do. It just doesn't consume me like it consumes Lizzie. Sure, I felt guilty after watching An Inconvenient Truth, and we recycle... but I like to flush the toilet, shower, and brush my teeth. I try to do my part by running groundwater tests for Lizzie and helping her think of ways to become more fuel-efficient, but complete carbon-neutrality at SJST by the end of Senior Year... just is not going to happen. That girl is either going to become a scientist who prowls the rainforests, an agent of the CEAA, or a card-carrying member of Greenpeace.

Dan nodded as a disgusted look crossed his face. Like I said, her friends are severely lacking in the hygiene department. One of them vows she won't shower until Quebec is free... On second thought, though, that might be Tibet.

I brought the hockey stick back, bringing it forward a bit faster, almost listlessly, to hit the puck. Once again, I scored, but I didn't feel satisfied. I just felt tired. I shot a sideways glance at my friend, the only person I'd trusted with even a little bit of the confusing and conflicting bits of information at my fingertips. Maybe he'll be able to help me. So I sighed raggedly, leaning on my hockey stick. "So, D, what's the answer? How do I correct this?" I implored almost pleadingly.

He looked away from me at first, either unable to look at me or lost in thought. Then he lifted his head up, his eyes gleaming with an idea. From the cautious way he dropped his head back down again and looked at me sideways, I could tell that he didn't expect me to like what he had to say. Dan, however, hadn't counted on my desperation. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dan spoke. "You're really not going to like this, Ed." I rolled my eyes at him, impatiently motioning for him to go on. "Way I see it, you have two options. You can either get yourself a steady girlfriend or start dating every girl in school... Or just ditch Lizzie. I know she's important to you, Ed, but you two can't always be so close. You'll be separated sooner or later, and it's really better if-" Dan began to elucidate calmly.

Or at least he did before I cut him off. My eyes flashed dangerously, shooting him a dark glare. I am not going to drop my best friend because of a couple rumors, or pick up a girlfriend just because it's convenient. If I do that, it's like I really do have something to hide. "You know I can't do that." I said it without question, just a simple statement of fact.

Dan nodded plainly, frowning. "I do... But that doesn't change the fact that it doesn't sit right with people. _You _don't sit right with people, Edwin, because you're different," he stressed, trying to prove a point about how the rest of our school is filled with conformist jocks and princesses. Then Dan's lips curled up into a smirk. "I think it would actually be less weird if you dated Lizzie because they'd at least understand that. Right now, Edwin, you are a virtual enigma to them. They don't like you because you don't fit into their plans. You're not predictable, and there's no telling what you can do. These people, they will never understand you," Dan declared somewhat philosophically. I was rather impressed by this show, adding mentally the reason why they started the rumors: because they didn't understand me and feared me.

I don't care what anybody thinks about me. I guess you could say I'm stronger than Derek in that way, because he's always cared about that. I do, however, care if people think I'm dating my stepsister, but I'm not going to let it consume me. I sighed, shooting another goal with a bit more force than was necessary. I guess I'm just going to have to learn to deal with this.

Still, it might be good to start dating again...

Loren ;*

Thanks for all the reviews!


	5. Conductor

Ah, first off, sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I meant to do that... but my computer crapped out, so I got a new one. And it's been pretty hectic for me lately what with my first week of school and the big event in town, and my father's visiting and there's all kinds of insanity, and I have to be up at like... 6:45 or something to be down at the train station at eight because I'm allowing for insane tourist traffic and the bus taking forever, but you guys don't want excuses. You want results. So here's the chapter. It ought to be nice and long and confusing. And I'm sorry, but I kinda couldn't resist making the chapter title a kind of science pun.

Let's just say things get a little heated and awkward in this chapter. ;) Kind of like a bad chemical reaction.

Anyways, reviews would be great! And they're appreciated! Thanks!

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**Conductor:** 1. An object, usually a metal or ionic substance, that transmits heat, electricity, sound, etc. from one medium to another. 2. An object that stores, boosts, and/or directs heat or electricity.

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My friend continued to inform me that I scare off potential boyfriends for Lizzie. I don't really think that's true, though, considering Derek is much more intimidating. So then we went down to the rink where all the figure skaters go. I know I was still kind of sweaty, but I didn't think I was that unattractive. Seriously, though, every time I tried to pick up a girl, she always seemed to think I had a girlfriend. "Aren't you dating Lizzie McDonald?" they'd ask. Every time one of them said that, Dan smirked at me. After the tenth girl, I just stopped trying, deciding to cut my losses, and went back home.

Once I changed out of Derek's hand-me-down hockey gear, I realized how sore my whole body was. I headed to the shower immediately, turning up the hot water all the way. The hot water was soothing to my aching muscles, so I stayed in for at least thirty minutes. I felt a bit better, but I decided to rest. I threw my dirty clothes in the hamper and wrapped a towel around my waist. Then I opened the door and damn near ran into Lizzie.

Her eyebrows shot up, and I noticed that she was, strangely enough, staring at me. Lizzie blinked, looking somewhat dazed. "Um... Sorry, Edwin," she muttered. She kept staring at me (or, rather, my chest) for a few moments before abruptly snapping her head up and looking at my face. I felt extremely awkward, but I tried to put it out of mind. "Hi," Lizzie whispered. I attempted a smile, but it didn't work. "I just wanted to take a shower... We went down to a fishery in Toronto instead of the meeting, and we wound up protesting. Now I'm covered in blood and fish guts. I've been wanting to bathe for three hours," Lizzie explained. I suddenly noticed that she was a mess indeed, covered in hunks of fish. I hadn't even noticed the smell, so preoccupied had I been with the awkwardness of the situation. Her face and clothes were splattered with dark, dry fish blood, and her hair was stringy. She was strangely silent, and suddenly it was as if all the air had gone out of her.

I stepped aside so she could go in, but Lizzie seemed so distracted. I pursed my lips in contemplation, deciding to offer her some help. "If you want, I'll put your clothes in the laundry for you," I suggested. Lizzie just nodded dimly. It seemed like she was in another place, so I tried again. "I'll draw you a bath if you want... Or you can just have the shower now," I offered kindly, touching her on the shoulder. She looked at my hand dazedly for a moment, but then turned to stare into space. She gave no kind of a response, and I was at a loss for what to do. Finally, I picked a chunk of fish off her chest, slightly above her cleavage, and ate it. "Mm... Walleye. Doesn't taste half-bad, you know," I quipped, hoping that would snap her out of it.

I sighed, realizing that Lizzie obviously wasn't able to bathe herself. She looked extremely tired, for whatever reason. So I pulled her into the bathroom and started picking bits and pieces of fish off of her. Lizzie exhaled heavily, waiting patiently for me to finish. After I did, Lizzie took her shirt off and handed it to me. I blinked in surprise. Something is wrong here. I grabbed Lizzie's shoulder. "Lizzie, snap out of it and tell me what's wrong," I ordered in a tone so bossy that Casey and Derek would've been proud.

She immediately turned to look at me, but at first she just stared in disbelief. I was feeling pretty cold, so I wanted her to get over it and tell me already so I could put on some clothes. She seemed to come into herself a bit and shook her head, regaining her bearings. Lizzie flashed an embarrassed smile. "Sorry. The fish smell was getting to me," she replied, waving her hand in the air to try and dissipate the smell. Then she frowned, leaning on the sink. "Derek called me. He told me Casey's getting married," she said in a tone so expressionless and cool that I knew that was what was really bothering her.

"To Noel?" I questioned because I simply had to ask. There was always a little bit of doubt with Casey. And, even though I tried to avoid thinking about it (because of the implications and those applications), I'd thought for approximately one seconds that her potential groom might be my brother. That, of course, would be ridiculous, but how would Derek know Casey was getting married before her sister? Maybe that was why Lizzie was acting so strangely, because she felt betrayed by Casey, who had somehow told Derek before her. Lizzie nodded solemnly, splashing water on her face and washing her hands.

She wrinkled her nose, sniffing her hands. "Damn. I still reek of dead fish." Lizzie scrubbed at her hands with a renewed, even neurotic zeal. I noticed she avoided mentioning the topic. Was she mad Casey hadn't told her, or was she mad for another reason? Lizzie was staring determinedly at her sudsy hands. "Derek wasn't happy about it," she said suddenly, shooting me a glance to see my reaction. Then I was hit with a flash of understanding. Oh, this is really about Derek. Why am I so surprised?

I refused to satisfy her with much of a response, merely nodding instead. That wasn't a surprise at all. Derek barely tolerated Noel, and even Casey could tell. It wasn't an overprotective big brother thing because Derek will **never **be her brother, and it wasn't that he wanted to make her miserable at all costs. I think it's because he subconsciously sees Casey as _his_, and Derek does not like sharing his belongings. Casey would hate that statement, and I'm sure neither of them would agree, but it's definitely something like that. Derek ceases being remotely normal when it comes to Casey. Sometimes I almost think... but then I don't, of course, because Derek is still bigger than me, and I know full well he could snap me like a twig. "So, how do you feel about it?" I broached apprehensively.

Lizzie frowned, now scrubbing her arms with a mild look of disgust. She shrugged carelessly, exuding a studied apathy. "I think it's too soon," she blurted. I qualified that statement with a nod, motioning for her to go on. Lizzie turned around to stare in the mirror, and I found myself using the opportunity to check her out with dark, hungry eyes. "I guess he's a nice enough guy and everything but I'm not quite sure they're right for each other," she remarked eloquently, rinsing her red hands and beginning to dry them with a hand towel. "Noel wouldn't be my first choice," Lizzie said levelly, stubbornly scrubbing at the dried blood on her face. I suddenly noticed that I was staring at her none-too-subtly, so I withdrew my gaze, feeling embarrassed. I felt my cheeks redden.

At this revelation from Lizzie, my eyes narrowed. I had thought the both of us liked Noel. Noel is nice, funny, calm, easily the most intelligent guy Casey has ever dated, and agreeable to boot. Plus, on some level, he challenges her but doesn't push her too far, and it's plain as day that he's over the moon for her. The whole family, minus Derek, likes him, and even Derek manages a grudging respect for him. They pretend to get along pretty well. In my mind, Casey could do a whole lot worse than Noel and not much better. It takes some kind of man to put up with her dramatics and anal-retentiveness. What I wanted to know was why Lizzie cared. It seemed like the only reason she thought Noel was wrong for Casey was because he wasn't Derek, and obviously if she wants Casey to wind up with Derek... excuse me, but how the hell does that work, since Lizzie's the one in love with him, and Casey hates his guts? By that logic she should be happy Casey's getting married. So, relatively annoyed by this but even more annoyed by her total silence on the subject, I went there. "Of course. Everyone else is second to Derek, right?" I remarked acidly, surprised at the bitter venom behind my words.

I knew I'd hit a sore spot when Lizzie stiffened. She turned around slowly, looking even paler than before. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Edwin," she replied with an icy cool, turning back to the mirror and resuming her activities. I rolled my eyes, frustrated by her attempted lies. She seriously thinks she can lie to me, of all people? I came up behind her, intent on making her face me. Seeing me approaching, Lizzie pivoted and wound up pressed against the sink stiffly. She eyed my towel fixedly. "Edwin, you're only wearing a towel. This could become very uncomfortable for one of us," Lizzie murmured in a faux-sweet voice, once again staring pointedly at the towel-covered half of me.

She did say one of us might become uncomfortable, but I was banking on it being her. I felt like I owed her a little discomfort after last night, so I pushed harder against her, backing her up so that she was almost bent over backwards over the sink. I was not just going to sit around and let her boss me around and avoid the damn subject. She made it my problem. "Really, Lizzie, because I think you **do**!I think you're lying to me. _Me, _who knows you better than anyone else in the whole wide world, and you think you can lie to me?!" I growled furiously, eyes boring into her. Lizzie actually looked scared of me, as well she should, I suppose, since I'd stumbled on to her biggest secret.

Lizzie's head was downcast, and she refused to look at me. This further confirmed the fact that she was lying and miserably at that. "Edwin, don't go there," Lizzie pleaded, suddenly leaning up to look at me hopefully. "_Please_," she stressed, clutching her hands and begging me not to talk about it. I felt bad for her, but I was, by no means, about to sit around and ignore the issue. I was about to shake my head and start to talk when Lizzie put her hands on my shoulders. I blinked, once again surprised by her. Maybe she was right about me becoming uncomfortable after all.

I stiffened a bit but didn't pull away from her. That would be giving in, and if there's anything I've learned from my big bro, it's never give in to a McDonald. Lizzie can be just as froward as Casey when she wants to be. I managed to shake my head, really hating the traitorous feeling of her hands on my bare skin. "No, Lizzie," I said firmly, knocking her hands off my shoulders abruptly. "You made this my problem, so we are going to talk about this. You love Derek," I stated stubbornly. Lizzie's eyes widened in horror, but she didn't deny it. She couldn't deny the truth.

The look in her eyes will easily haunt me the rest of her days. It was akin to that of a cornered animal with nowhere else to go, no options but to lash out. That's exactly what Lizzie did then. A part of her seemed to snap, and she grabbed the knot of the towel, jerking me even further up against her. This time I was close enough to be uncomfortable, just as she'd predicted earlier. Whatever reaction I'd been expecting, that was not it. After all, Lizzie was awake, and it wasn't the middle of the night. She tilted her head, staring at me curiously. A predatory gleam flashed in her eye, like she wanted to play with her prey before killing it. Her soft, cruel fingers traced and tickled the sensitive skin above the towel, causing goosebumps to form on my skin. "C'mon, Edwin... You used to like me once," Lizzie coaxed flirtatiously, "Tell me what a guy like Derek likes."

Clenching my jaw, I scowled and tried to remove her fingers. I'm sick of putting up with this. I'm not going to be her replacement for Derek. Finally, I just had to push her away. "No, Lizzie. I'm not going to let you use me," I said stubbornly. I had half a mind to turn my back on her and go get dressed. If I stayed any longer, I was playing with fire. To be honest, I'd kind of bristled when she brought up the fact that I'd liked her. I hated that it meant that she knew, and she still... She used me then. I wasn't going to repeat that cycle. Lizzie frowned at me and didn't say anything for a long while, probably because she knew I was right.

However, since Casey and Derek left, Lizzie's been accustomed to getting her own way more and more. I usually go along with what she wants, but I refuse to go along with this, with her wanting Derek. "You don't seem to understand this, Lizzie, but Derek sees you as a sister. He will never think of you in the way you want him to, okay?" I growled, trying to make it painfully clear to her that she didn't have a chance. Lizzie's face fell entirely, and, for a moment, I almost felt bad. I hated to hurt her, but better it was coming from me than from Derek. I care about her, and Derek... doesn't. Not like me, at any rate, not near half as much.

She crumpled at that remark. I wanted her to hold up her head firmly like she had before, to face it and embrace the reality like she'd always done. What I wanted might as well have been impossible. Then Lizzie collapsed against me, draping her arms loosely around my neck, burying her head in my collarbone. I felt her breath, hot, damp, and heavy on my skin. She leaned on me for a ballast, needing the support, needing to keep standing. Her nose tickled my neck. I was frozen in shock, unknowing and confused. She sighed raggedly; some of the warm air hit my stomach. "You're right," she admitted in a whisper, surrendering. "Okay. Fine." The words were nothing short of a miracle, clearly a sign she'd been far too gone to be thinking clearly. She'd practically handed me a victory. "I do love Derek."

I was just surprised she'd finally admitted it, much less to me. Then Lizzie pulled back to look at me, and I noticed the light was back in her eyes. It looked as if she'd had an idea, and I knew I was in trouble. Whatever it was, it involved Derek, and she was going to rope me into helping. "Eddie, could you help me? You know Derek better than just about anyone... Could you make him like me?" Lizzie begged in a tone so sweet and innocent that I couldn't deny her anything. I hate it when she does that. I also hate it when she calls me Eddie. Great, just what I need, to be roped into another hook-up scheme. I sighed and nodded weakly.

Lizzie's eyes brightened even further, and she hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. Slightly breathless, I decided to make a point. "Remember, you can't _make _someone like you, Lizzie. He either does or doesn't, and, frankly, I don't think he ever will," I stated plainly. Lizzie winced, shutting her eyes like she didn't want to hear it. She needed to hear it, though. I know Derek, and I'm not going to believe that my brother could fall for Lizzie. She's just not his type. When Lizzie opened her eyes, they shone with determination. The way she was looking at me indicated that she wanted me to start advising her, so I pulled back to have a decent look at her.

Of course I knew what Lizzie looked like. This time, though, I had to see her through Derek's eyes. I frowned in distaste. Derek is much more disgustingly chauvinistic and superficial than I am. Nevertheless, I looked her over and tried to keep this mindset. She's in great shape, has nice breasts, good hair, a pretty face... If she wore a little more make-up and wasn't his stepsister (or should I say his younger stepsister? Maybe she's just the wrong one?), Derek might go for her. Lizzie shot me a disgusted look, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. I wondered idly if she realized that made her cleavage look bigger. "You're fine." Lizzie smirked, and I suddenly realized how that sounded. I felt myself blush.

"You know what I mean," I replied, giving her a dirty look. Lizzie gave me a skeptical look, and I rolled my eyes. "Physically, you're Derek's type. I mean, you're a _girl_..." She brightened up at that, so I felt the need to temper my remark before she got too excited. "But you're not Derek's type. Fundamentally, my brother likes a challenge. He really likes girls who challenge him, who make him angry, who make him think. He likes a mystery to unravel," I explained carefully. Lizzie frowned but stared at me with interest. I knew she was wondering how to become that girl. I knew enough to know that straightforward, innocent, sporty, environmentalist Lizzie was not his type. Derek likes straightforward girls, but he also likes easy ones.

Seeing Lizzie's expectant look, I decided to make it very clear. I wisely left out that tidbit about how slutty Derek takes his girls for fear that it would have an adverse effect on my poor sister. "He likes girls who play hard to get... like Kendra, Sally, and Casey," I finished, realizing with a shock that I'd added Casey to the list. That wasn't what surprised me. It surprised me that I told Lizzie that, actually said it out loud. I'd always subconsciously associated Casey with Derek's favorite type of girl, since they shared so many of the same qualities. Kendra was even overly dramatic like Casey, though I know for a fact that Derek hates drama queens. Then again, both Sally and Kendra were blondes, so maybe I'm wrong. Lizzie straightened up at that, looking at me in surprise. I was not supposed to say that. I guess the common theme is that Derek wants what he cannot have.

When I put it that way, it almost sounds like Lizzie's his type. Since Lizzie was pondering my statement with a bit more interest and suspicion than I'd like, given what I'd insinuated, I frantically thought of something to say to distract her. "Um, I guess you could wear more revealing clothes and maybe a little more make-up... And it would probably be better if you started dating again, to, um, make him jealous," I suggested helpfully. I was secretly hoping that she would start dating again and find someone her own age who she could really like. What I failed to mention was that dating other guys would make Derek protective rather than jealous, and that he would try and sabotage her dates because he thought I liked her. As far as I was concerned, she didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting Derek to see her in a different light. At first she looked a little insulted, but it wasn't my opinion. I was just saying what will draw Derek's attention.

I've always thought Lizzie looked good. She doesn't need a lot of make-up, and, frankly, I'm glad she doesn't wear revealing clothes. If she did, I'd lose my mind. Then Lizzie nodded, smiling widely, even gratefully. I didn't like to see that hope on her face because it felt like she was getting her hopes up over nothing. So I decided once again to warn her of the dangers of chasing after Derek. "When you stopped dating, didn't you say you were going to focus on soccer and your studies? It's not too late to do that, you know. I mean, you'll get much more return out of-" I rapidly tried to convince her.

Lizzie shook her head, cutting me off. "It's not like I've forgotten about them, Ed. I... I'm just not like you, Ed. I'm like Casey. I can't be satisfied with my sports and environmental protests and grades alone! I need something to dream of!" Lizzie exclaimed a bit dramatically for my taste. I suddenly remembered how, occasionally, she was very much like her sister. Well, I thought with a grimace, that is the way to go if she really wants Derek to like her. Naturally, I refrained from saying this aloud, lest I raise even more unwanted questions about the already curious nature of our older siblings' relationship.

I sighed, conceding. At least I'd tried to stop her. I knew, though, that in the end, when she finally realized she had no chance with him, I'd be the one left to pick up the pieces. Lizzie pouted, shooting me a pleading look. I shook my head, knowing what that look meant. I'd already told her what Derek wanted in a girl; what more did she want of me?! I can't force Derek to like her, and she can't force me to believe that he will. Lizzie does not have iron will like my brother. He's entirely wrong for her, and I know for a fact that my brother only sees her as a little sister. He sees her as a kid, nothing more. "Please, Edwin?" Lizzie pleaded with just a hint of a whine in her voice.

Damn it. She's using those eyes on me again. Liz knows I can never say no to her. Taking my silence as a positive sign, Lizzie approached me slowly. We'd drifted apart since we started discussing my brother's preferences. She outstretched her palms, holding out her hands as she came closer, uncomfortably close like she'd said earlier. "Make me into that girl," she implored, looking up at me almost mournfully through heavy lashes. I can't do that. Does she think I'm gay too or something? Girls don't ask straight guys to make them over. I know for a fact that I cannot, and I wanted to tell her to ask Casey to make her over, but I couldn't do it. Rotten submission. Needless to say, I gave in. Damn girl suckered me into it.

Lizzie bit her lip, relishing her power. "Okay." Her head bobbed. "So how about you go call Derek?" Lizzie posed anxiously. I understood immediately what she wanted me to do. She wanted me to call Derek, bring up the subject of her, and ask Derek for his thoughts. I find that a very roundabout way of figuring out what the object of your affection thinks of you, akin to middle school courtship rituals, but Liz doesn't care what I think. Lizzie will, of course, be listening to the entire conversation on the phone, so I'm going to have to be careful about what is said/overheard in that conversation. I have the nastiest feeling that this is not going to go well.

Apparently Lizzie had forgotten our mutual states of undress, her fishy odor, and perhaps even our proximity, because she gave me a severe "go-to" look. Her burning eyes asked why I wasn't already out of the room dialing his number. Forgive me for wanting to put some clothes on. It looked like I wouldn't be changing anytime soon. I I shrugged, thinking it couldn't really hurt anything. Finally, at Lizzie's stern insistence, I sighed and headed into Casey's old room. I sat down on the bed, dragging the phone unto the bed. Cursing my weak will and hoping he wouldn't pick up, I began to dial the seldom-used number. Lizzie entered the room moments later, bearing the cordless phone.

She sat down next to me, gingerly, on the edge of the bed. She looked a bit like a scared jackrabbit clutching the phone to her ear. Her eyes were wide, her fingers trembling. Click, clack, click, clack. She tapped her index finger impatiently against the hard plastic of the phone, heightening our mutual sense of anxiety about the situation. The phone rang distantly in my ear, once, twice, and then thrice... nothing. He hadn't answered, and I felt relieved. However, one look from Lizzie was enough to tell me that didn't cut it, so I redialed Derek. She was not disappointed; he picked up on the second ring.

"What're you wearing?" Derek quipped in a mock-flirtatious tone. The bastard has caller i.d., so he knows it's me. Lizzie shot me a quizzical look, and I knew she wasn't pleased. She probably thinks Derek is expecting a girl. I felt like snorting: like my brother's the kind of guy to wait by the phone? Nevertheless, I felt myself blush under my stepsister's curious stare. Sometimes I really hate Derek. Now happens to be one of those times.

I rolled my eyes, clearing my throat, and wishing I wasn't so nervous. Truthfully, I was kind of terrified that Derek would say something really bad or incriminating, and then I'd be left all alone to face Lizzie's wrath. "Asshole," I hissed irritably. Lizzie reacted swiftly to the perceived slight to her beloved, slapping my shoulder with an audible smack. I frowned, rubbing the stinging skin. "So, Der... What do you think-" I began, planning to come right out and ask.

Derek, however, had other plans. It was one of those times when his habit of ignoring me actually came in handy. He interrupted with an almost audible smirk, "Ooh, now what was that, Edwin? Sounded like a girl slapping you. Did you do something you shouldn't have?" I realize from the context that it kind of sounds like Derek is flirting with me, rather than teasing me, but Derek's just like that. Apparently Lizzie noticed too, because she mouthed 'sounds more like he likes you, Eddie'. She did not look happy, and I scowled at her. But then I looked at Lizzie and got a sudden idea.

Why not ham it up a little? Maybe I'll be able to distract Derek and effectively fluster Liz into not pursuing this awkward conversation. I smirked unconsciously. "I figured you'd be proud... I just got done with Elizabeth, and she was being all clingy and needy, whining about how much she loves me and putting her hands all over me... So of course I thought of you, because this little fling has obviously gone too far, and I definitely need your help shaking this slut. I respectfully asked her to clear out, but she wouldn't listen. So then I told her how little she actually meant to me. She said some things, and then she got outraged and slapped me for using her. Lame," I drawled dryly, pulling the best Derek impression I could manage. In reality I would never say anything like that.

Lizzie's jaw dropped at my sudden change in attitude. She looked absolutely outraged at my blatant lies. I am Derek's brother, after all; who says I don't know how to lie and manipulate? Dad's a lawyer, and Marti always gets her way. It's in the genes. I just don't choose to exploit them like the rest of my family. I could tell she definitely wanted to slap me again but didn't dare risk it (and with good reason since I'd merely make up an even more elaborate, explicit lie). What made her angriest was probably the fact that I'd given the "slut" her name.

Unfortunately, my attempt at amusement was misunderstood by my elder brother. If anything he seemed just as surprised as Lizzie. I wasn't used to that. My big brother is never surprised. "Elizabeth? As in Lizzie McDonald, our stepsister, that Elizabeth?" My gleeful grin turned to a dark scowl. I swear my heart stopped for a minute. I was insulted. He actually thought I was the kind of guy who would prey on his younger stepsister? I would never treat Lizzie like the made-up whore I just described. How quickly his mind jumped to perversions. It was really disappointing and rather frustrating, since I have no romantic inclinations towards Lizzie. I'm over whatever childish delusions I once possessed towards her.

If it was possible, my favorite sister looked even more horrified and pissed off at this assumption. Since I was equally disgusted with the idea (well, perhaps that wasn't quite the word for it), I sought to correct my brother's false belief. "No, of course not! I meant Elizabeth McKenna. She's this really easy environmentalist friend of Lizzie's who believes so strongly in sexual liberation that she'll give it up to just about anyone. I thought that she, as a feminist, would be a lot less needy and emotionally-attached," I replied easily, continuing my lie. Derek would never find out it was a lie, so what did it matter?

Derek seemed to buy it, but he didn't sound too convinced, so I was forced to assure him that I had not been speaking of Lizzie. When I say forced, I mean that she kept elbowing me until I said something satisfactory to convince Derek. "C'mon, Derek... You know I would never do that to Liz," I managed, wondering what I'd referenced. What was that? I wouldn't talk about Lizzie like that? I wouldn't treat Lizzie like that? I wouldn't have sex with her? I shook my head, attempting to clear it of the disturbing shots. It was probably a mixture of all of them.

Derek seemed pleased with that. He's kind of protective of Lizzie. I glanced over at Lizzie, who was still annoyed but looked satisfied with my response. I felt relieved, and, at the look she gave me, I knew I was going to have to ask Derek. I sighed, glaring at her. "Hey, Derek... What do you think about Lizzie?" I asked hesitantly. I cringed in anticipation, sensing Derek's innuendo about to burst forth. I knew he was going to make a comment because asking this makes it sound like I like her or something. Before Derek could formulate a response, I covered the receiver, turning to Lizzie. "You know, he's going to think I like you," I whispered warningly. Lizzie rolled her eyes, and I shot her a look. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Then I uncovered the receiver and put the phone back up to my ear. Derek had finally managed a response. I found it strange. He wasn't usually at a loss for words. "You already know what I think," Derek said dryly. Lizzie shot me an exasperated look, motioning for me to get him to talk more. She frowned, seemingly wondering what he thought of her, looking at me questioningly. I merely shrugged in response. He approves of her. He's proud of me. He thinks she's a good girl... He thinks I couldn't have found anyone better!

"Could you elaborate on that, Derek?" I asked in a strained voice. Lizzie's eyes narrowed in irritation. "What do you really think of her?" Man, Derek's going to be suspicious. He's got to suspect that she's listening. I would suspect it. Seriously, Lizzie and I need to have a talk about her schemes. This is so eighth grade.

I could almost imagine Derek making some vague shrugging gesture. "I don't really think my thoughts on the subject really matter. What matters is what _you _think of her," Derek muttered dismissively. Lizzie fortunately missed the implication in that statement, more consumed with frustration than thoughts of what he could possibly mean. As for me, it was all I could do not to blush. I frowned, and Lizzie had to hold back the phone to growl. It wasn't like Derek to avoid a subject. He sounded even more distant than he usually did. Derek just comes right out and says what he thinks. After a rather awkward silence, I heard my brother sigh. "Okay... Fine. She's a good girl. Lizzie's pretty, smart, athletic, low-drama, funny, nice, and sweet... everything you could want in a girlfriend, Ed," Derek admitted quickly.

Something's wrong. There was an entirely alien tone of frustration in Derek's voice, almost like I'd interrupted something. He sounded upset. He sort of emphasized the you so I got the feeling that she wasn't really what he wanted in a girlfriend. Lizzie was too overjoyed by his "revelation" to notice. She didn't realize the emptiness behind them, or the way he'd tacked on the qualifying statement about me. Then, maybe she thought he was using me as a camouflage or that Derek was being distant and brief because his feelings for that intense. She probably even thought his reluctance to admit that was caution or denial, I thought disgustedly. I shook his head, frowning, wondering if his problem was something about Casey.

Derek's breathing was heavy in my ear. "Look, Ed, can we cut out the talking about Lizzie? Talking about her like that grosses me out, and I'm really not in the mood," Derek mumbled wearily. It sounded like it had been a long day for him. It was strange to hear Derek like that, so exhausted and... miserable? Lizzie's face fell, and I could see the broken look on her face. I put my hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her, but she shrugged it off. I knew something like this was going to happen. Derek would inadvertently say something that would hurt Lizzie. So I really had nothing to say after that.

My brother seemed to realize he'd said something wrong, but he had no idea how wrong it really was. "Edwin, man, I'm s... I didn't mean it like that, okay? I just can't think of her in that way... I mean, she's still like a little sister to me... It's weird for me," Derek admitted apologetically. He sounded resigned, even defeated. He didn't sound like Derek, the brother I'd always known and feared. My brother is indefatigable, relentless, and always victorious. He isn't this shadowy, weak, tired stranger who almost apologizes!

I can count on my left hand every time Derek's apologized to me. Someone's always made him do it, and I don't think he ever meant an apology. It was weird for me too, though, talking about Lizzie in a romantic way. I didn't want to, and I didn't even feel that way. Yet it seems that Derek thinks of Lizzie as less of a blood sister than I do, though he obviously thinks of her in an doubtlessly more platonic way. I frowned, contemplating what it all meant. Lizzie angrily clicked the phone off, chucking it down on the bed. She began crying in earnest, and I put my hand on her hair in yet another attempt to soothe. Like the first one, it backfired in my face when she drew away, and I wound up falling over.

My oblivious brother continued talking. How nice it must be to be Derek, I thought darkly, pushing myself up from the floor to a standing position. Apparently he took my silence for an insult or thought that I felt guilty for feeling the way I did. The way I supposedly did, in Derek's brain. "It's... Don't worry, okay? What you're feeling isn't wrong, Ed. It's perfectly natural. Normal even," Derek attempted to reassure me. He spoke in a voice that was rife with the pain of experience. My curiosity was piqued.

Clearing my throat, I started to ask him. I knew what question I wanted to ask; it was literally on the tip of my tongue, threatening to bubble out, but ultimately I couldn't bring myself to do it. I chickened out again, and I settled for a less direct question. I found myself ignoring Lizzie, who would only push me away, in favor of sorting out my brother's problems. "Does this have anything to with Casey getting married to Noel?" I blurted like a moron. I heard Derek's sharp intake of breath. "Lizzie told me you called and told her."

This time Derek didn't even have the energy to be defensive. He merely ignored the subject. I glanced over at Lizzie, but she wasn't paying attention to our conversation. "Yeah, I did," he confessed reluctantly. He couldn't very well deny it now. Lizzie was in no position to confirm it, but he knew we told each other everything. "I figured she had a right to know as her sister." I nodded before realizing Derek couldn't see me. He had a point. I couldn't believe Casey hadn't called Lizzie right after it happened. Speaking of how it happened... I had even more questions.

"Why did Casey tell _you_?" I wondered aloud. She was never that close to Derek in the first place. The two rarely saw each other except on the few occasions when she came to London for holidays and birthdays, which was generally a handful of times a year. Even when they did see each other, they were generally at odds or observing a fragile truce. It didn't make any sense that she would tell Derek before her mother or her sister, unless she wanted him to insult her, disapprove, or talk her out of it. Casey isn't a masochist.

If I didn't know Derek better, I'd say he was getting increasingly emo as the conversation progressed. He laughed, but not like he usually did, a sort of humorless chuckle. "What makes you think Princess Casey told me?" Derek rejoined darkly. So Casey didn't tell him?

Derek continued brusquely, scowling over the line, I'm sure. "I went to Toronto over the weekend," he explained. "Actually, I'm still here because my flight back home has been delayed until eight-thirty." He was in an extremely foul mood, and, understandably, sounded none-too-happy about it. I realized then that he must be either packing, in the airport, or waiting somewhere. He paused deliberately. My brow furrowed in confusion. Derek went to Toronto? I was still trying to process Derek's impulsive trip when I remembered he had said flight. Normally Derek just drove the two and a half hours to Toronto. "Apparently, this scout saw me play in the game against the Blues two weeks ago, and I kicked ass, obviously. In fact, I almost wish I was a football player so that I could trounce them again without a fight," Derek exclaimed with a surprising vehemence.

I remembered the game, though. Derek had not exaggerated his prowess. He was on fire that night, with two hat tricks and five goals. Derek pretty much single-handedly won the game for the Mustangs. It wasn't even a home game. We were all very proud, Lizzie especially. She was so excited she practically turned stripper. Even Casey was sitting with us and cheering him on, and she goes to U of T! That might be the reason Derek performed so well, now that I think about it. He especially enjoys boasting about his victories against U of T, and the Mustangs haven't lost a game against them since his first year there. "Well, I guess the guy was snooping around because he also found out that the Knights want me for next season."

My jaw dropped, and I found myself seriously impressed with my brother. I mean, I knew he was good. I just never knew he was that good. Why hadn't he told any of us that the Knights wanted to draft him? It was just the sort of thing Derek would brag about and never cease talking about... unless he wasn't sure or didn't want to chance it, which was likely, given Derek's propensity for superstition. I was about to compliment him when he pressed on. "So the recruiter shows up at my school Thursday and begs me to come to Toronto to try out for the Leafs. He gives me his card and tells me to think it over. I thought it over about a millisecond and called him back, telling him I was going to come. He comes to campus again Friday, gives me a plane ticket there and one for the return trip, and says it's on the team," Derek elucidated succinctly.

I raised my eyebrows in shock. The Maple Leafs asked Derek to try out for them? Obviously Derek was a great hockey player, and the junior leagues had been speculating about him for a while. Nora and Dad had always insisted, however, that he remain in school and get his degree. Derek complied, and he'd apparently been negotiating with the Knights on his own. It was kind of surprising that he wanted to stay at home, but the Knights were a good, popular team. My brother would be a local celebrity if he played for them... but the Leafs? That was a whole different kind of game.

Derek sighed. "So I came there, and I tried out for them. I practiced with some of the guys, which was pretty freaking awesome, and they said they'd think about it and get back to me in May. After that, I was pretty worn out, so I went back to my hotel room to crash. Imagine my surprise when Noel calls me up, asking all sorts of questions about Casey. I make the mistake of telling him I'm actually in Toronto, and he begs me to go shopping with him," Derek groaned. His voice was scratchy, a half-growl, rather.

I knew playing, even practicing, with NHL players was a big deal to Derek. He was probably really nervous about that, wondering how he'd done. It came back to why Noel would call Derek, though. Why not Lizzie or Nora, or maybe someone Casey even gets along with... Besides, Noel's been with Casey for three years. Shouldn't he know her well enough by this point? I wondered briefly how Noel convinced Derek to come with him. He wasn't Derek's favorite person anyway, so he must've been very persuasive.

"And then I found out that he was shopping for an engagement ring," Derek deadpanned in a dry voice that lacked enthusiasm or congratulations. He'd been forced to help pick out the ring. He added that a happy Casey had called at midnight yesterday, bubbling over with thanks to him. Apparently my brother has very good taste.

I didn't particularly know what to say after that, but I could sense his irritation. He was probably sore from playing hockey yesterday. "That sucks," I declared decisively. I decided wisely to change the subject. I wondered how he'd done, but my brother was always good on ice. I knew that, even despite his nerves, he'd play fine and get along famously with the professionals. He's always been very good at spreading on the charm and getting people to like him. "So, the Leafs, huh? Don't they get like, second or third-round draft pick or something? How can they be sure they get you?" I asked, being careful to tiptoe around the real issue. Seriously, I think the Leafs got the seventy-fourth pick last year.

Derek chuckled. "Well, everyone knows first-round picks are rigged, but I can cross my fingers and hope they win the lottery," He remarked ironically. "Who knows? Maybe I'll wind up with the Penguins." He paused, trying to regain himself. He seemed to be loosening up, getting out of the funk he'd been in, even if it was only a little bit. "So, you and Liz, huh? What's happening there?" Derek questioned slyly. I scowled and remembered that Lizzie was still crying her eyes out over him, and that made me angry.

"Nothing," I snapped a bit too fiercely. I could tell that Derek was raising his eyebrows. "Look, Derek, just drop it, okay? I've got to go. Goodbye and good luck," I proclaimed impatiently only seconds before hanging up. I felt kind of bad for giving Derek the blow-off, but he sounded okay, and he was completely wrong. Besides, Lizzie needed my attention anyway. I turned to face her; she was sitting on Casey's bed, hugging her knees, staring vacantly into space.

The remnants of tears lingered on her face. I frowned and got up, sitting down next to her. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to my side. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks, falling onto my chest. "I'm a good girl. I'm like a sister to him. He can't ever think about me that way, and he won't ever see me in a romantic light! Talking about me like that grosses him out! I was so stupid to, to think..." Lizzie wailed tearfully, eventually trailing off as her voice broke. I felt and almost shared her pain, so I stroked her hair and wiped away her tears in a paltry attempt to comfort her. I tried to think of something that would soothe her, but nothing came to mind. I might have three sisters, but I am scarcely better with a crying girl than Derek is.

The words 'I told you so' came to mind, but I refrained out of respect for Lizzie. Proving how right I had been wouldn't help anyone. "Liz, Derek doesn't know how you feel. He thought he was talking to me... He never would've said any of those things if he knew. Plus Derek said lots of good things about you, right? He said that you were smart, pretty, funny, nice, athletic, low-drama, and sweet, that you're everything someone could want in a girlfriend. And he was right," I whispered patiently. She brought her head up to rest on my shoulder so that she could look up at me.

She smiled faintly. "You really think so?" I smiled back at her.

"I know so, Lizzie. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Derek doesn't know what he's missing," I murmured warmly, caressing her cheek. Her cheek was smooth. The smile on Lizzie's face widened, and I could've sworn that her eyes brightened. I teasingly bumped her shoulder. "C'mon, Liz... You're too good for him." Lizzie jerked her head up and shot me a disbelieving look, but I wasn't lying to her. "He doesn't deserve you," I reaffirmed stubbornly. And even if he had her, Derek wouldn't know what to do with her.

Her skin felt cold, so I rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm her up. She moved closer to me, tilting her neck to the side. I obliged her and started to give her a back massage. Lizzie's eyes closed almost instantaneously, and her whole body seemed to relax. What can I say? I'm good with my hands. My fingers found a particularly sensitive knot, and Lizzie let out a moan. "That feels good, Edwin," Lizzie gasped dreamily. I swallowed hard, feeling something inside of me tighten. Her breathy voice was doing bad things to me. I turned my attentions to her back with a vengeance, attempting to drown the unwanted thoughts in the repetitive motion. However, she only made more noise.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stifle a sound. "I love you, Edwin," she breathed, distractedly putting her hand on my knee. I tried to ignore it because it seemed wrong to notice such things. My heart shouldn't skip a beat at an expression of sisterly affection! But there was nothing sisterly about her voice, husky and low like that. I swallowed hard, kneading her back, trying to forget the effect she was having on me. Her hand slipped up my thigh in her distraction. I swallowed harder this time, trying to focus on what I was doing. Lizzie made it damn near impossible. Her hand moved under the towel, climbing further up my thigh. I sucked in a breath.

For once, I had no idea what to do. Her fingers traced lazy letters on my leg. I was so uncomfortable that I wanted to jump ten feet in the air. Her hand was hot on my cool skin. Her touch burned. Her fingertips fluttered against my skin, moving up a little higher still. I felt all flushed and sweaty, like I'd done something wrong. I was about to, too; I could feel the urge to do something completely perverse and perverted building up in me. God, I wanted to—Sister. She's your sister. S-I-S-T-E-R. It would do you damn well to remember that. But no kind of sister placed a warm hand on your thigh like that. Not any pure-minded, innocent little sister, unless she was a horribly sick and cruel little tease. And I should not be thinking those things about my sister, but she damn well shouldn't have her hand so close to my genitals either.

She squeezed my thigh, and I had to bite down on my bottom lip to avoid making a sound. I bit down so hard I tasted blood, and my vision was swimming with horrible visions of all the nasty, dreadfully wonderful things I wanted to do to Lizzie. It would be so easy, I thought deliriously, eying her already-unbuttoned jeans and the flimsy clasps of her bra. She ran a finger up and down my leg, coming further up each time. I couldn't stop her, but I couldn't do anything about it either. I was trapped in a very private hell, and all I can say is that I must've done something absolutely rotten in a past life to deserve this. I don't even believe in karma.

My eyes flicked shut, and I leaned my head against the back of Lizzie's neck, burying my face in her hair. She smelled so good, and it was impossible for me to not concentrate on that. My breath came in hard, hot pants against the back of her neck. I briefly wondered whether I was giving her goosebumps. It would serve her right, I thought maliciously. Part of me really hated her right then for tempting me so damn much and then acting so innocent, leaving me high and dry. I knew nothing could ever come of it, but there I was, waiting for it. My hands slipped down her back, finding their places on her hips. Suddenly Lizzie turned back around, frowning. She seemed much calmer and much more relaxed.

At least someone's relaxed, I grumbled. Still, I had that effect on her, I thought with pride. She looked down and blushed, realizing that her hand was on my upper thigh and the rather obvious fact that I was extremely turned on. What she did not realize was that I really did want to jump her, and the massive amount of self-control it took for me not to just rip off her jeans and, well... wham, bam, thank you, Ma'am! I was much less embarrassed than Lizzie, if only for the fact that it meant she was finally getting her hand off of my thigh. Plus, in addition, I hadn't really initiated anything. I'd just given her a backrub like I've done for years, and Lizzie was the one who was moaning and putting her hands where she shouldn't. Nevertheless, having my stepsister see me with a hard-on isn't normal for me. In fact, it's probably the most awkward situation of my life since there's really no way I can argue around her being the one I want.

Not that Lizzie would probably notice or care with her Derek blinders on. She was as red as a ripe tomato when she nervously extracted her hand from the towel I was wearing. When she finally did, I found myself disappointed by the lack of direct contact. Was it so bad if I just wanted to screw her and get it all over with so I wouldn't be tormented with all this unresolved sexual tension?

What the **hell **am I thinking?!! Was I seriously contemplating that? That sounds like something Derek sound say! It's so jacked up I can't even say something like that out loud for fear of instantaneously being declared a sex predator. Of course that's bad! It's not only bad but also horrible and morally repugnant. To even dare think that... I just can't believe I'm that sick. And I actually thought Derek and Casey's relationship was disturbing? This takes it to a whole new level of wrong, nasty, and creepy. Lizzie covered her face, cheeks burning. She wanted to pat my knee or something, but she didn't even trust herself to do that. "I'm so sorry, Edwin. I never meant to..." I hated myself for wishing she had.

I noticed with some irritation that she was staring at me. No, not at my face or even my chest... at the area that skimpy towel was covering. I couldn't help but think she was staring at me rather pointedly, and I found myself furious. It might've just been the embarrassment or maybe all the built-up frustration inside of me, but I exploded. It wasn't messy, okay? "Wow, Liz, could you stare at my lower half any more?" I snapped, standing up in disgust. I gestured down to it myself as Lizzie's eyes dropped in shame. "Oh, go on ahead, _look_! Feast your eyes! Yes, Lizzie, I'm turned on, okay?! God! **You **did this to me! _There, _I admitted it, and now you can think to yourself, 'wow, isn't Edwin a sick perv'!" I snarled with flourish.

My own cheeks were flushed from the force of the argument, and I definitely wasn't thinking clearly, but I suddenly remembered I'd left my old clothes in the bathroom. I could just change, take a very cold shower, and be done with it. So I turned on my heel, crossing my fingers and hoping that my real sister wasn't in the hallway, and I dashed down to the bathroom. Fortunately, it was still free, and Marti was nowhere in sight. I felt relieved.

Or, at least I would've, if Lizzie hadn't followed me. She immediately started banging on the door. "Edwin! Edwin, I'm sorry," she shouted. I pointedly chose to ignore her and started collecting my clothes off the floor. "Ed! Please talk to me! I'm sorry for my behavior. I was just... surprised, that's all. I didn't mean to stare, and I'm sorry if I offended you. I didn't mean to do it. And I don't really think you're a pervert or anything, I promise!" Lizzie begged very diplomatically. The pleading tone in her voice did not help matters. Every time I even blinked, graphic visions of what I could be doing to her assaulted me. She did sound awfully sincere, though. The banging on the door stopped, and Lizzie's voice got softer. "I'm sorry I got you all worked up."

She sounded like she really meant it, and I immediately felt horrible. I had removed the towel and was moving to put on my clothes and maybe formulate a reply when all of a sudden, the door swung open. Lizzie fell unto the floor. Apparently she'd just leaned against the door I stupidly forgot to lock. She'd fallen flat on her back, and my mind immediately jumped to the variously dirty things associated with that position (i.e. sex). Lizzie looked up and gaped. "Oh my..." She gasped. That's when I blushed and grabbed the towel to cover myself up. The sound of her gasp was forever ingrained in my mind.

Lizzie looked away, refusing to even look at me, and started apologizing all over again. "I'm sorry, Edwin... I never even knew the door was unlocked, and I'm so, so sorry..." I took advantage of her distraction to start dressing quickly. It was a little painful, but I managed. I noticed Lizzie sneak a peak at me. Should I be flattered or disturbed by that? "Um, you have... Nice abs, Ed. Your body really isn't something to be ashamed of. _Really_," Lizzie managed awkwardly, flushing horribly. It came out sounding incredibly strangled. My embarrassment was gone, replaced by a kind of confidence not wholly alien to my brother. Apparently Lizzie thinks I'm attractive. I was actually smirking, but the grin dropped off my face as soon as Lizzie peeked between her hands. "Are you decent?" I just nodded.

She slowly removed her hands from her eyes and sighed in relief. Liz made a concerned effort to look at my eyes, not my body, which impressed me somewhat. She laughed awkwardly. "Well, at least _you _can think of me that way," she muttered. Her attempt at a joke fell flat. It just served to remind me again that I am not Derek, and that I'm a total sicko who wants to make out with his stepsister. I wanted to do more than stand here, breathing. I wanted to turn around and tell her off because she wants to have sex with Derek, not me! I hate that I'm mad about that. The way she said it... _you... _because apparently I'm that ubiquitous somebody who cares.

I stood there like an idiot, and then I realized that I had to get out of the room before I lost it. As to what it is, take a guess: my temper, my cool, my control, hell, even my mind. "Yeah, whatever... All's forgiven, Liz. Now, if you excuse me, I've got a science report to work on," I mumbled shortly, brushing past her. Why did I do that?! Now I have the memory of her skin engraved in my fingers. My hand had accidentally brushed against her stomach. So I retreated to the familiar safety of my attic and let my furious fingers fly on the keyboard of my computer, typing up a storm of a paper about chaos theory.

I could barely see straight from all the red in my vision, but it came to me easily. The words were clustering on the pages in droves, tiny black print lines replacing the mocking white screen. Patterns and connections instantaneously appeared to me as I glanced casually at my many pages of data. At the very least, being absorbed in my work got all that had transpired between my stepsister and me out of my mind.

I finished hours later, sore, stiff, and exhausted... but not completely satisfied. Far from it, I ought to say. Deep down in my churning gut, there was the dangerous knowledge of why I wasn't. Knowledge so dangerous I didn't dare speak its name aloud. It was on the tip of my tongue nevertheless, instinctively there but selectively out of my reach. I'd banished and repressed whatever it was (even though I knew, deep down; I knew!) for my own good and probably my own sanity.

Fortunately, I was lucky enough to collapse on my bed afterward and not dwell on these elusive, unwanted ideas. My last thought before falling asleep was that my life has certainly gotten more chaotic lately. And, unfortunately for me, it's twisting in ways even I can't manage to predict.

Because, after all, how can you predict anything if there's no recognizable, observable pattern to it?

- Loren ;*


	6. Polarity

Bet you guys didn't think I'd post so soon, eh? Neither did I. But, hell, I was bored, and there's nothing else I can really post. I'm running out of finished chapters, though, which is bad. Anyway, this chapter is somewhat uneventful yet rather amusing. It features the return of an old friend from the show! Yay! The next chapter's much longer than this one, and it should prove to be sufficiently interesting, I should think.

And, wow, a lot of comments about my periphery characters. Let's just hope you don't find the Derek/Casey weirdness more interesting than the main plot, guys!

I don't own anything in this chapter save Eleanor. The rest belongs to the creators of LWD, of course. Oh, and reviews are greatly appreciated.

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**Polarity:** 1. The concept that a molecule has positive and/or negative charges that allow it to bond to or repel other molecules, depending upon the difference in charges and the asymmetry of its structure. 2. The relationship between two such opposites.

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I decided almost immediately after that to start dating again. Lizzie followed me in that decision—but for different reasons. My reasons for dating are basically to get my mind back on track so that I stop thinking about Lizzie like that, to stop the rumors, and as an excuse to get laid. Lizzie's reason is to make my brother jealous, which is never going to happen. Frankly, the thought of her dating unsettles me a little because I never like any of the guys she chooses, but it's not my choice, so I have to accept it. I can't stop her from dating the creepy freaks at our school any more than I can stop her from loving my brother. That doesn't, however, mean that I have to approve.

And I definitely didn't approve once I met her idea of a date.

She chose Teddy, as in my old, very much insane friend, Teddy. Naturally, this development perturbed me... quite a bit. I was alarmed because I know Teddy, or "Ted", as he likes to be called now. I know that he is an asshole, firstly. Secondly, Teddy wants to **be **my brother. Logically, this would make him the perfect choice for Lizzie, but in reality, no, he's actually worse. I know that's impossible to believe. I didn't think anyone could be worse for Lizzie than my brother, but at least he's the genuine article. Besides, Derek's settled down a bit since going to college.

Teddy, on the other hand, is a party animal. His favorite hobbies are drinking, hitting on girls (attempting to get laid, but generally always failing unless the girl is piss-drunk), and, occasionally, smoking marijuana. He's sneaky but not smart, and I'm not sure I could even call him cunning. Crafty, maybe, but only when it comes to pranks and torture. Oh, and he also enjoys making fun of people and tormenting them physically, mentally, and socially. Sometimes I wonder why I am even friends with such an obvious wastoid, but then I remember that he is not really my real friend. He is more of an acquaintance, the friendship of which I keep up for appearances' sake... and the simple fact that he does know how to have a good time. Plus there's the fact that, compared to him, every guy looks so much better.

Since Teddy repulses all girls, I kind of pick up what runs away from him, sort of like a magnet. So, when Lizzie jumped up from the couch, looking far more girly than usual and admittedly, extremely attractive... I knew something was up. Her hair was down and blown straight, and she was wearing more make-up than usual. The foolish girl made the mistake of wearing revealing clothes that I could just picture him trying to rip off of her. Naturally, I shudder to think of that. Imagine my surprise when she ran to open the door, revealing Teddy. My so-called friend winked at me and leaned forward, already trying to put the moves on my Lizzie! He hadn't even been there a minute, and he was trying to grab ass. I don't think so! I had been watching television then, but that was more than enough to spurn me into action.

Next thing I knew, I found myself jerking Lizzie back, away from Teddy. I shot her a stern look and then turned to give Teddy a glare that could melt ice. "Excuse me, Teddy," I said coolly, only feigning politeness, "My stepsister and I need to have a little chat. We'll be right back, won't we, Lizzie?" I gave her a glance and quickly turned around, dragging her into the kitchen and damn near slamming the door shut behind us. Lizzie glowered at me, rubbing her wrist, which was still bruised from earlier.

"What was that about, Edwin?" Lizzie asked rather sharply. She leaned against the counter, straightening her dress. She pouted her lips and fluffed her hair, not looking at me. "Make it quick, Ed," she ordered. I rolled my eyes. With a voice that bossy, she was beginning to sound like her sister.

I stiffened, unwilling to fulfill her demand. "What the **hell **was that? I know you're dating again... but Teddy? Teddy, of all people?! Liz, I know you've got better taste than that!" I exclaimed, perhaps a bit dramatically, pacing back and forth. Lizzie turned to look at me, frowning, and I shot her a glare before she could say anything. "C'mon, Lizzie, you love my brother, so clearly you want someone better than Teddy. So I'm telling you right now that not only can you do better than Teddy, but that you deserve better than Teddy. And I'm just going to tell you this now because I need to get this out in the open..." I lectured before trailing off.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, clearly bemused and curious. "What is it, Edwin? Teddy seems fine. Hurry it up, brother..." she muttered rather impatiently. She still looked like she wanted to know, though.

I grabbed Lizzie's forearms, pulling her towards me. I leaned in, getting up in her face. "Teddy only wants one thing, Liz. He will try and put the moves on you in approximately ten seconds. I'm _telling _you not to go out with him," I stated bluntly. Lizzie looked at me with a rather glazed look in her eyes. She did not look surprised. In fact, she rolled her eyes.

She grabbed my hands, ripping them off her arms and throwing them back at me. "Don't manhandle me, Edwin," she reprimanded sternly. Lizzie didn't move, though. She was still standing only a few centimeters away from me. I felt somewhat chagrined, but I knew that I would have to supervise, that I would have to help her out. I wasn't about to leave my sister alone with Teddy. _I'm _not stupid. Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest, eying me with interest. "Is there any _specific _reason you don't want me to go out with him?" she asked in a husky voice. Her gaze was expectant, as if she was waiting for me to say something.

I was confused because I thought I'd already given the specific reason I didn't want her to go out with him. That reason is basically that he's a dog, and I've half a mind to think that he'll attack her like a pitbull. The other reason is that, of course, she can do about a million times better and accordingly deserves someone a million times better. Unless she thinks... but she can't think that. Come on, Ed, did you really think she was really that oblivious? How many times has she observed teenage behavior with you? She should be able to tell... But that can't be it. It's just not. I looked down, unable to answer her question, and Lizzie smirked victoriously. With a swish of her hair and a muffled laugh, she pushed herself away from counter, propelling herself towards the door.

Against my will, I got caught up in the way her hips swayed. Man, she really does have a nice ass, and that tight miniskirt showed it off to perfection. My throat felt suddenly dry, and I realized that I was feeling a bit jealous of Teddy. Clearly I am losing my mind if I am jealous of him, so I tried to shake the thought from my head and hurried after her. Actually, I damn near ran into the room. When I emerged, Lizzie was apologizing to Teddy. "I'm sorry about that. Edwin's been a little eccentric lately, you know, trying to play the role of the overprotective big brother..." Teddy grinned, reaching out to put a hand around her waist. I wasn't going to stand for that.

Not to mention the fact that my beloved sister has the nerve to call me eccentric, me!

So, in an impressive feat, I jumped over the couch, dashing towards the door Teddy was beginning to open. I hurled myself against it, slamming it shut behind me. Naturally, I wound up in front of them, so both turned to look at me as if I was some sort of madman. Please... Scientists are eccentric or mad, but not insane. I flashed a smile, casually crossing my arms over my chest as Derek would. For a moment, I was reminded of the bet they'd made over Trevor, and how far Derek had gone to ensure that Casey lost. With that in mind, I had a sudden idea. I may never give him credit for it, but sometimes my older brother is really and truly a genius. There was no better way to spy on them than to get myself invited along with them.

Still breathless, I made a concerted effort to twist my smirk into something slightly more charming and, hopefully, persuasive. Lizzie's cheeks were red, her eyes blazing with irritation. Teddy's hand hovered in the air near her waist, forgotten. My smile widened. I made sure to look at Teddy, not Lizzie, because this whole plan hinged on him. "Hey, Ted... I was thinking about what you said to me the other day about how I need to get out more, and... I think you're right. You think I could tag along with you and Lizzie?" I posed brightly. Inwardly, I was wincing at the admission that Teddy was right. Truthfully, he was right, but I didn't particularly care as long as I was satisfied... and happily not consumed with thoughts of my dear sister.

Teddy's mouth fell open in surprise. I'd never asked him to take me anywhere, and we didn't normally hang out a lot. Only then did I let my eyes shift to Lizzie, who had stiffened and was glowering at me with an unholy rage. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under right now. She shook her head frantically at me, mouthing "no" again and again. I gave her a smug look, returning my gaze to Teddy, who appeared to be contemplating the idea. "Uh..." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Liz was starting to mouth curse words at me. I raised my eyebrows in shock, slightly surprised that she would let such filth pass over her lips. Then again, she was going to go out on a date with Teddy, and she often hangs out in compost heaps. This should not have surprised me.

My eyes shot back to her when I noticed a sudden flurry of movement. She had grabbed Teddy's arm and was giving him puppy-dog eyes. She blinked repeatedly, prettily batting her eyelashes at him. It came off looking quite a bit like she had something in her eye due to her inexperience with flirting. Nevertheless, Teddy's lack of receptiveness to her charms did not deter her. She clutched his arm tighter. "Oh, but Teddy... Poor Edwin will be all alone. He'll be a third wheel. He might as well just stay home," Lizzie pointed out tersely. She spoke through clenched teeth, shooting me a death glare after every sentence to punctuate her statement.

I was prepared for that, though. I turned to Teddy, smiling. "Do you still have that cute sister, Teddy? I've been meaning to ask her out," I asked politely. You see, Teddy told me that his parents are out of town this weekend. I personally want to know what they're thinking; have they ever met their son? At any rate, Teddy can't really throw a party unless he bribes his stick-in-the-mud sister. She's even worse than Casey, as unbelievable as that is, and Teddy's always bitching about how someone needs to take the stick out of her ass or attributing her problems to her needing to get laid. So I knew he would be jumping at the opportunity to have someone distract her and would definitely not refuse to let me go along.

Lizzie stared at me incredulously for a moment, as if in disbelief that I would go that far. She knows that Teddy's tried to push his sister off on me before, and I always said no. Then Lizzie noticed the overjoyed look on her date's face and realized that he was going to say yes, so she blurted out the first thing that came into mind. I savored the brief flash of panic in her eyes. "Edwin, don't rob the cradle! Teddy, please don't let your sweet little sister go out with Edwin... He'll corrupt her or something!" Lizzie said pleadingly, pouting at him. Her voice was convincing, I must say, full of emotion and desperation. "All the girls he dates wind up screwed up. In fact, every girl he's ever touched isn't the same afterwards," Lizzie continued further, shooting me an anxious glance.

However, Teddy was beginning to get suspicious, and I was feeling rather offended. She's saying that dating me ruins a girl, pretty much, which isn't even true. My ex-girlfriends are fine. I even kind of get along with them. And the second comment... seriously, what the hell is that?! I've touched _her _more than anyone. Nevertheless, that statement can also be taken as a compliment, so I flashed Lizzie a knowing smirk. She frowned at me and looked away, almost as if she was embarrassed. Teddy glanced from me to Lizzie and then back again, a frown beginning to form on his face. He looked confused. "Are you two, like, fighting or something?" he pondered, wondering what was up with our behavior.

He was giving Lizzie the stranger looks, though, considering that she's acting way out of character. "NO!" Lizzie and I exclaimed loudly at exactly the same time. Teddy raised an eyebrow and stared a bit but wisely said nothing. Lizzie blushed and looked away, grabbing Teddy's arm. He looked at her with interest. "Seriously, though, trust me... you don't want him going out with your sister. He's just like Derek, only _worse_," Lizzie told him matter-of-factly. She said it so breezily it made me want to strangle her, especially since the both of us know it's not true.

If I were Derek, I probably would've jumped her when I had the chance. Going out with Teddy was one thing, but insulting me was quite another. Her comments were beginning to sting. However, Lizzie had made a fatal flaw; she'd forgotten that Teddy still idolized our dear older brother. Ted turned to look at me, a strange look on his face. He seemed to contemplate it in silence for a moment (a second, really) before shaking his head to Lizzie. He nodded at me, shrugging helplessly. "I can't say no, Liz. How could I refuse him when he's letting me go out with you? Now come on... We're gonna be late for the movie," Teddy exclaimed, walking out of the door. And that was that.

I grinned victoriously, motioning for Lizzie to go first. She glowered at me, scowling, banging into me on her way out. I didn't get why she was so mad. It wasn't even like she really liked Teddy in the first place. Fortunately for me, Teddy's sister, Eleanor, was already in the car, so we didn't have to go back to his house to fetch her. She was sitting sullenly in the back seat, dressed in all black, sitting very prim and proper for a goth. I attempted to beat Lizzie to the front seat, but she managed to slip in before I could, so I was forced to sit in the back next to Eleanor.

First, I suppose I should explain several things about Eleanor. For one thing, Eleanor is maybe fourteen, maybe. I would never voluntarily date her because she's so young I'd be like dating Marti... and I'm just not attracted to little girls. Eleanor doesn't really look that young, but I know how old she is. She's not even wholly unattractive, really, but I'm just not attracted to her. She's not my type at all. She's a perfectionist and a know-it-all, in addition to being arrogant, extremely neurotic, and possessing some of Teddy's worse personality traits. She's not a very likable person either. In fact, she's rather antisocial, and she dresses like a librarian in mourning. I have no interest in Teddy's creepy little sister, but I knew I'd have to entertain her to suit my purposes. So I smiled and decided to make nice with her.

She gave me a weird look, turning to Teddy. "Teddy, what's your friend Edweirdo doing here? He's giving me the eye, and it's kind of creeping me out," she demanded, eying her brother in the mirror. I stiffened, and I heard Lizzie snicker. I saw her face in the mirror, mocking me, mouthing "Edweirdo." God, I hate that name almost as much as Eddie. Plus, I'm not even giving her the eye. I've looked at her for maybe a minute.

Teddy shot his sister a reproachful look. "For whatever reason, Edwin has agreed to go out with you and thus take you off my hands. So you'd better play nice if you know what's good for you," he explained succinctly, turning fully around to give her a serious look. The car almost went off the road, but Lizzie grabbed it first. Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest, looking me over skeptically. Her frown deepened. I felt embarrassed. What am I thinking?

"But he's **old**!" Eleanor whined, eying me with distaste. I slouched against the seat, careful not to touch her. I tried to remember to be like Derek. Whenever I'm in a situation like this, I always find myself wondering what would Derek do. I try to do what he would, and I guess it helps. Derek would make some smart comment at this point, but I don't see the point. Eleanor's brow furrowed in contemplation. "Besides, isn't he dating his sister anyway?" She blurted irritably. Lizzie looked horrified, and I rolled my eyes. She can't even get the rumor right. Teddy looked like he was about to answer, but I cut him off before he could speak.

I turned to her abruptly. "No. My _sister_ is thirteen. If you're going to believe all the gossip you hear, you should at least get it right. The girl that I'm supposedly dating is my _stepsister_,Lizzie, and I'm not. Got it?" I growled, giving her a particularly dark look. While talking, I gestured to Lizzie. Lizzie looked mortified by now. Ah, she thought she was safe under the guise of a child's ignorance. My dear sister slunk down in her seat with red cheeks. She was shaking her head, covering her face. Eleanor gave her a similarly weird look, and I felt somewhat relieved.

However, I did see Teddy raising an eyebrow in the mirror, pondering... I discreetly looked away from him, focusing on the seat in front of me. "Is that why you're fixing me up with him?! This is illegal. If I don't want to go out with your creepy loser friend, I don't have to! It's not the sixteenth century anymore! I don't have to listen to you!" Eleanor piped up. The scowl on my face deepened at her accusatory tone. She sounds like a kid, all whiny and temperamental. This is why I don't date girls in Grade Nine, thank you. Besides, I resent that statement. I am neither creepy nor a loser. Teddy gave me an exasperated look.

"Jeez, Edwin, can you find a way to shut her up or what?!" Teddy gritted out between his teeth. I shot him back a look. If I had figured out a way, I would, but I haven't... clearly. Eleanor pursed her lips, staring at me unnervingly, and opened her mouth to speak. Teddy's eyes flashed, and before I knew it, I'd flung myself across the seat, practically tackling her. I crushed her lips against mine, grabbing her arms, doing my best to distract her. I took advantage of her surprise to slip my tongue in her mouth. Sure, she fought me, at first, pounding on me with her tiny hands, delivering one blow after another that didn't hurt. Cries of muffled protest and open disapproval (from Lizzie) rang in my ears, but I ignored them.

Damn it, I was going to make nice with Teddy's sister.

Then she stopped fighting and leaned back, opening her mouth wider. She moaned deep in her throat, and for a second, I was almost attracted to her. She wasn't half bad at kissing, really, so I kept it up until she ran out of air. She didn't have a lot of lung capacity, so she pulled away breathless and flushed. Upon pulling away, my eyes met Lizzie's disapproving stare. She shook her head at me, scowling, and I hated the fact that half of the reason I'd even kissed Eleanor in the first place was because I wanted to kiss Lizzie. Eleanor, I knew, was glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, but I carefully avoided looking at her. I didn't want to, not when I felt low and sick and had that awful feeling that I'd taken advantage of her. So I crossed my arms over my chest instead and glowered out the window in silence.

Teddy was right. I do need to get out more. If I did, I would be healthy like every other eighteen-year-old boy out there, happily enjoying his sexual prime. I would not be making out with a fourteen-year-old in the back of her brother's car or fantasizing about my stepsister. Things would be so much simpler if I'd just said yes to Molly Moscovich when she asked me to Homecoming, damn it, but no, I wanted to focus on academics.

We couldn't have arrived at the movie theater any later. If we had, I might've killed someone. That was the most awkward car ride of my life. Teddy and Lizzie got out of the car first. I noticed that he did not open the door for her, but that probably made little difference to Lizzie anyway. I rolled my eyes and unfastened my seatbelt. In doing so, I accidentally caught Eleanor's eye. She was staring at me with a somewhat awed look on her face, and I felt embarrassed. I couldn't look at her without thinking about how low I'd just sunken.

I'd kissed a fourteen-year-old to convince people I wasn't dating my sister and, alternatively, to insure that my sister's date with my friend failed. That is so messed up I can't even say it.

Eleanor was admiring. Apparently she found my mysterious, impulsive kiss hot, and she thought my brooding was sexy. Being so silent and antisocial herself, she is attracted to it in others. God only knows why. Eleanor leaned up against me, placing her hand over mine on the seatbelt. "You're a weirdo and a loner, but for some reason, I like that. How about we get to know each other a little better?" Eleanor confessed flirtatiously. My stomach churned, and I tore my hand away from hers as if I'd been burned, hurriedly exiting the car. That's Eleanor for you, both flirtatious and insulting, and I can't even be flattered by it because I feel sick.

I dashed after Teddy and Lizzie, insinuating myself between them, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. It was very uncomfortable, and both looked accordingly discomfited as we walked in the theater. I glanced back and noticed that Eleanor was pouting and trailing behind us. I tried to bring myself not to care about her plight, but I felt responsible for it. I resolved silently to be nicer to her. Nicer, but I didn't have to pretend to like her or anything. We went to see some dumb flick, one of those completely pedestrian comedies that everyone thinks is so funny, but it's really just a lot of middle-school boy humor and swearing.

Lizzie hates that kind of movie, but I guess Teddy didn't care because I'm sure he figured he was just going to be making out with her the whole time. I sighed, buying various concessions for myself, Lizzie, and Eleanor. I figured it was the least I could do. When we finally went inside the theater, I made sure to sit down on Lizzie's other side, as Teddy was sitting to her right. If I'd gotten there earlier, I would've sat between them. I got bored fast after that.

Eleanor kept giving me puppy-dog eyes, whispering things to me, practically begging me to kiss her. I shook my head swiftly, turning away in disgust only to see Lizzie and Teddy. They weren't going at it or anything, but he was kissing her hand and making her giggle, which made me want to puke. I tried to engage either of them in conversation like I normally would, but Lizzie ignored me for mindless banter with Teddy. This was an especially bad sign as we would always talk during movies, especially movies like this one, even if we were in a group (or on a double date, depending on how interesting our mutual dates were or how bad/good the movie was)... if only to make fun of it mercilessly. Teddy got a bit more daring as the film went on.

He kept one eye on the screen and devoted the rest of his body to wooing my sister. The sloppy kisses he planted on her hand went higher and higher until his lips had climbed her shoulder and were attempting to cross her collarbone. Something inside of me twisted or wrenched at the sight. I called her name rather loudly, loud enough so that I was shushed, in a final attempt to help her. Once again, Liz ignored me. If she didn't want my help, then it whatever happened was her own damn fault. I'm the one with her best interests at heart. I tried to help her, but I'm not going to stay around and watch this. I don't have to submit myself to that.

Annoyed, I rose to my feet abruptly and stormed out of the theater. Sensing that Eleanor might follow me, I went the one place where she couldn't follow me—the men's bathroom. I sighed in relief, leaning on the counter and staring at myself in the mirror. There was something different about my reflection, and I wasn't comfortable with the person I saw reflected there. It reminded me of all the awful things I'd done lately. It felt like there was a rock in my stomach. Once again I sighed, turning on the faucet and splashing some water on my face. I hadn't been getting much sleep lately.

I swiped a paper towel across my face, drying it. I pressed the soap dispenser, lathered up, and carefully washed my hands, thinking I'd feel less dirty that way. I didn't. Ugh. I was drying off my hands when my phone started vibrating. The feeling felt entirely too strange against my leg, so I pulled my phone out and answered. "Yo and hello?"

I threw the damp paper towel in the trash. "Hey, Ed. It's Jason." I nodded politely before remembering that he couldn't see me. I sighed and leaned against the counter.

"Hey, Jase. What's up?" I asked casually. Hell, it beat watching Teddy molest my stepsister, or, worse, having to put up with Eleanor making goo-goo eyes at me. Rock and a hard place, my friend. Holy Hydrogen... What happens if she tells her little freshmen or eight-grader... whatever... friends that she made out with me? I can just see it now, her gushing that The Edwin Venturi put the moves on her. No, my self-image is sadly not that inflated. That is other people's concept of me. You wouldn't believe how much they confuse me with Derek. They're almost as bad as Lizzie when she's sleeping.

There was a brief pause, a little static. I wasn't getting the best reception, so I held up my phone, moving around the washroom. "Man, where are you?" Jason questioned. I shrugged, wishing I had never come.

"The movies with Lizzie, Teddy, and Teddy's little sister." There was a brief, awkward silence. Jason grimaced over the phone, and I made a face. "Yeah, I know. That's why I'm in the washroom. Ugh. I couldn't sit there anymore watching him put his disgusting hands all over her! I mean, pawing a guy's sister in front of him? That's sick, even for Teddy," I continued, almost ranting. I was also conveniently ignoring the fact that I made out with his kid sister in the back seat of his car. Because he told me to get her to shut up... so what's that make me? I suddenly realized how fixated I sounded, so I wisely changed the subject. "So... What'd you call about?"

Jason had been listening in a baffled silence, but now he spoke up. I was grateful he ignored what I'd said about Lizzie and Teddy. "You'll never believe this, but Michelle's back," Jason blabbed excitedly. My body went rigid with shock. Michelle was my first real girlfriend. I had a bit of a crush on her in middle school, but then again, I had crushes on every girl in middle school, and the feelings I had for Lizzie prevented much of anything from happening. Michelle was the first girl who'd shown real interest in me. We'd dated for about a year, even getting pretty serious actually, until she moved away two summers ago. I had it bad for her. I might've been in love with her even.

Everyone liked her, all my friends, my whole family... She even got to be really good friends with Lizzie. Needless to say we hadn't kept in touch, and I'd all but forgotten about her until Jason brought her up. It took me a minute to realize that I wasn't even breathing. I drew in a breath hesitantly. "Oh." I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around the fact. As far as I knew, she had been in the States. "Since when?" I managed breathlessly.

He seemed to think it over for a minute. "I don't know, Ed... A couple days, I'd guess. I went over to Dan's today, and there was a moving van in front of his neighbors' house. You know how the Rogers' moved out like three months ago, and it's been vacant ever since... well, I saw the whole lot of them coming out of the house, grabbing boxes and taking them inside. I saw her face. I know it's her," Jason explained matter-of-factly. There wasn't much I really could question.

I merely sighed instead, pinching the bridge of my nose. I needed to feel something to know I was still alive, even if it was pain. "She's going to want to see me, isn't she?" I muttered wearily. I wasn't being cocky. I just figured she would. Either way, I'd run into her eventually, at school or something. I wondered dimly if she was back for good.

Jason exhaled sharply. "I don't know, Edwin... maybe. You'll probably have to see her sometime," he replied dully. I nodded before realizing he couldn't see me and then made a grunt of affirmation. "I'll keep an eye on the situation for you. Call me when Lizzie and Ted tell you to screw off, okay?" Jason suggested. I agreed with him, frowning, for I was now thinking of what Lizzie and Teddy were doing. Needless to say, I didn't particularly like the idea of it. I didn't need those visuals.

Honestly, I'd rather watch a paramecium move than see Lizzie and Teddy going at it. I was almost sure they were, and it made me feel apprehensive. My stomach was all tied up in knots because I knew Lizzie wasn't that sort of girl at all, and that she didn't deserve it. I snapped out of it, finally hanging up when I realized that I was listening to a dead line. I knew I had to go back in the theater, so I steeled myself. I had to do it for Lizzie's sake, I reminded myself stubbornly.

A few moments and a deep breath later, I headed out of the washroom, crossing over to the theater. I peered into the darkness, searching for familiar people and clothing. Unfortunately, however, my pupils hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness, and everyone knows that rod cells aren't sensitive to color. It's a wonder we can see any color in the dark, and I suppose we wouldn't if there wasn't even the barest hint of light to illuminate the darkness. Nevertheless, I started up the stairs. Needless to say I spotted Lizzie soon, considering I heard a piercing shriek.

"Hi-YAH!" That, I knew, was Lizzie's battle cry. Sure enough, my eyes landed on a girl fighting with her date. She threw his heavy arms off of her and kneed him in the groin, hurriedly standing up and dashing down the stairs. The man groaned in pain, clutching his groin. The girl, meanwhile, climbed over people and took the stairs almost two at a time. In fact, she happened to crash right into me moments later, hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

She was pressing me against the wall. Her hands were on either side of my head. They had automatically swung out to brace her, and now they were supporting her. She too had to catch her breath. Lizzie didn't quite recognize me in the dark, so she waited a moment and then pushed away from the wall, mumbling an apology and trying to hurry past me. I grabbed her by the arms, pulling her towards me, and intentionally shifted my face into the light. I did this wisely because she fought me at first, and I knew full well just how formidable an opponent Lizzie was, especially when she thought she was getting attacked.

Okay, I readily admit it. I'm slightly afraid of her moves.

Yes, I do realize how absolutely lame that sounds... but it's true. The girl knows tae kwon do _and _karate. She's a black belt, for Newton's sake! Can you honestly blame me for not wanting to meet her in a dark alley?

Yeah, that's actually a total lie too. I wouldn't really mind that because I'm attracted to her, and all I can think about is how good she looks naked... even though, of course, I haven't seen her like that in years.

Lizzie's heart was racing from the adrenaline, a deadly cocktail of the fear and physical exertion. Apparently she practices both fight and flight mechanisms, in that order. "Edwin?" she gasped, peering at me dazedly. I nodded shortly. She sighed and relaxed, leaning against me, trying to catch her breath. Lizzie threw her arms around my waist, and I felt her breathing against my chest. I knew she was going to say something about Teddy; I did, but I felt my stomach muscles tighten nonetheless. "Let's get out of here."

Her voice was huskier than I would've liked. I nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist. I chose to overlook the fact that Teddy had driven us there and escorted her out of the theater. The look on her face told me that she did not want to discuss what had happened, so I wisely decided to wait and ask her later. Once we were in the lobby, I was left with the question of how, exactly, we would get home. It was a rather long walk, but it wasn't too cool outside. However, there was always the option of Derek. With a single call, I could secure us a ride home.

The thought was tempting, but I didn't want to expose Lizzie to my brother after encountering Teddy. She needed time to recover. Her hair was messy, and her clothes were wrinkled. She looked a bit disheveled, so it seemed like my warnings had been warranted after all. I felt guilty too because I couldn't help thinking that I should've been in there and put a stop to it. I found myself pulling Lizzie closer towards me, almost protectively, when we got outside. My hand rested on the small of her back. She didn't seem to mind. Lizzie was off in her own world, probably still thinking about the colossal mistake that was Teddy.

Her skin looked ashen in the light, and her whole posture seemed equally lifeless. I watched as goosebumps spread along her skin as the wind hit her, but Lizzie remained stoic. I noticed her thin button-up shirt, cleavage-bearing camisole, and bare forearms, running my eyes over the flattering mini-skirt and bare legs all the way down to her knee-high leather boots. She was normally resistant to the cold, but today I saw her suppressing shivers. She was obviously cold, so I took off my jacket and draped it around her. Lizzie's head shot up, and she managed a grateful smile. I smiled back easily. It really was no skin off my back, giving her my jacket. However, Lizzie's gaze returned to her feet only moments later. I frowned but said nothing, accepting that we were going to walk home in a companionable silence.

Or so I thought, at least, until Lizzie shifted a little closer to me midway through the walk. Her stomach brushed against my side, and there was that nervousness again. I turned immediately to look at her, and I was surprised to notice that she was looking at me rather hesitantly. Her cheeks were flushed. She bit down on her lip, which immediately made me start staring at her mouth. Her lips were redder than usual, probably from Teddy's kisses, which I hated to think, and her lip-gloss was obviously smeared. "I'm sorry," Lizzie suddenly blurted. I raised my eyebrows in surprise and waited for her to continue. She looked down again, and I found myself a little disappointed. I kind of liked it when she looked at me.

"I should've listened to you. I should've believed you about Teddy. Obviously he's your friend and you know him better than I do. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you were right, and I was wrong," Lizzie admitted humbly. Her anxious eyes flicked over to me every now and then as she shot me nervous glances. I think my jaw dropped at that. Lizzie had never admitted to being wrong before, nor had her sister. It was a big first, and, of course, another first with Lizzie. She's practically my first everything. There's something wrong about that. I fought down the urge to smile, let alone smirk and remind her of my asinine older brother. Why does she have to be in love with _him_, of all people? Lizzie laughed mirthlessly. "Apparently you know what I deserve in a guy better than I do. Maybe I should let you pick the next one, eh?" Is she giving me license to choose who she dates?

And if so, then what does that say about Derek? Does it mean she's come to see my point of view on the issue?

She really shouldn't let me do that, though, because if it were up to me, she would never date. In fact, she would probably become a very successful spinster. If it were possible, I would lock her up in a tower so that only family would get to see her. The way she said it kind of made it sound like she wants me to find someone for her to date. Does she want me to set her up on a blind date or something? I'm trying right now, and I can't think of anyone to set her up with... I can't even think of anyone I know that deserves her, much less anyone that she could wind up liking.

That sounds bad, doesn't it?

I managed an effortless shrug for Lizzie, neither confirming or denying what she'd said. I waited patiently for her to continue talking about Ted. "It was all going fine... He was being charming, and he was a good kisser," Lizzie began to explain. She paused for a moment, at a loss for words. I scowled, not wanting to think of Teddy kissing my sister. I could just picture his lips on hers, all over her, trying to eat her away. It was a disgusting mental image. There was also the added level of how I did not want to think about her considering Ted a good kisser. It felt a little like a personal affront, but I couldn't assuage that fear. That was one question I did not want to ask.

Lizzie shook her head, getting back to her point. She was so immersed in her story that she didn't even notice the look on my face. "But then he got all... handsy... and started pawing me and trying to feel me up in the theater. He put his hands in places that I wasn't exactly comfortable with, and he started to... to... to, uh... pull at my clothes a little. Then I knew exactly what he wanted, and you were so right. So I tried to make him stop the quiet way, and when that didn't work, I whipped out the tae kwon do," Lizzie elucidated, finishing with a smile. I matched her smile. Her skills were truly superb.

I took my arm off her back, unable to avoid noticing that she frowned just slightly... as if she missed the contact. A moment later, however, I had shaken the thought from my mind as I wrapped my arm around her shoulders as I usually did, bringing our heads closer together so that I almost had her in a headlock. "I knew that you could handle him, Liz... I was just looking out for you. You're way too good for him," I exclaimed. Lizzie smiled at me, letting out a small laugh. "I'm just sorry I wasn't there to put a stop to it myself," I apologized. I knew exactly what was going to happen, and it was my duty as her older brother to interfere. Lizzie shook her head lightly, reaching up to pat my arm, communicating to me silently that I shouldn't feel bad about it. She seemed suddenly so serene. "You know I've always got your back."

Lizzie's smile widened at that, and I loosened my grip on her shoulders. I suddenly realized that we were almost home, and even though it was a little chilly, I found myself wishing the walk wasn't over. It had been nice. "You always know just what to say to make me feel better," Lizzie added, leaning into my grip. I shrugged but felt secretly pleased at that little admission. She, of course, ruined the lovely moment by tousling my hair. I frowned at her and fixed it with my other hand. We continued on in the same warm silence until Lizzie stopped in front of the Davis' house.

She turned to face me, and my arm dropped off her shoulder. I noticed the distance between us. It was the farthest since the movie theater. She looked me straight in the eye, and a certain honesty glinted there. "Ed, I'm so sorry for not believing you earlier and... doubting your motives." She seemed to stumble a little over that phrase. Why, what had she thought my motives were? "As long as I live, I will never make that mistake again," Lizzie swore intently. She further reinforced her message by leaning in towards me, firmly planting her hands on my shoulders. Our gazes locked, and I knew she meant it. A half-smile appeared on Lizzie's face. "If I ever break that promise, you have permission to punish me in any way you see fit."

It was clear that she was joking, or so I thought, but there was something strangely serious in the promise. It almost sounded as if she was willing to live up to any possible punishment for doubting me. I didn't mind that much, although her offer had gotten me thinking of the many interesting ways in which I could punish her. This immediately led my clearly damaged mind straight to the gutter, and I am far from proud to admit it. That's where it went, though; I sure as hell can't deny it.

She laughed brightly and raced ahead, grabbing my arm and pulling me along. The autumn wind whipped her hair around her face. I found it strange that my jacket stayed around her shoulders until I saw that she was holding it together with her other hand. She stopped suddenly, and I crashed into her. Lizzie grabbed my collar to steady herself. I swayed on my feet a little with her added weight. She finally managed to regain her balance and let go of me, but Liz remained close... a bit too close for my liking.

Then she wrapped her arms around me in an impromptu hug. At first I just stood there, too surprised to do anything, but I slowly regained myself enough to wrap my arms around her. "Thanks," Lizzie breathed gratefully. Her grip tightened, and she pressed herself even closer to me. Her mouth was near my ear, and I could feel her breath against my neck. I couldn't help but inhale her all-too familiar perfume. We remained like that for a long while until Lizzie pulled back slightly. She kept her arms around me, but not as tightly as they had been before. My arms stayed on her lower back, ensuring that she was still close. Her grip loosened, and her hands moved down to rest lightly on my hips.

I was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable with the situation. For a moment we remained like that in silence. Then Lizzie stood up on her tiptoes. Next thing I knew, she lurched forward and pressed her lips against mine. I hadn't been expecting it, so I was too stunned to respond. The strange force behind it left me breathless. Unlike the last time, this time felt like a flash of something white-hot burning against my lips, and it left my lips stinging sporadically for days afterwards. I didn't want to contemplate what that meant. I was scarcely able to press back when Lizzie pulled away abruptly, leaving me to regain myself.

My eyes flew open, and I had to blink so as to not look as completely stunned as I was. "Race you to the door!" she proclaimed cheerfully. Such friendly competitions were not uncommon between us and generally involved a wager of some kind. Lizzie didn't specify this time. She merely dashed to the door as I stood there dumbly, resisting the urge to rub my lips. I was suddenly very conscious of them and their place. I was still wondering what she was up to when she reached the door. She threw it open immediately and then turned back to look at me. Lizzie smiled at me indulgently, victory written all over her face. "You know, when you kiss back, you're a much better kisser than Teddy," Lizzie teased with an almost flirtatious note in her voice.

Then Lizzie giggled and triumphantly remarked that I would be doing the dishes for the next week. She closed the door before I could run inside and get her back. Great. Dishes for a week, I thought glumly. I knew Lizzie didn't kiss me because she was attracted to my natural musk... or whatever. In all actuality, I had absolutely no idea why she had. It made no sense to me whatsoever, and it was hard for me to call that a "family" kiss. I brushed my fingers across my lips absentmindedly, pondering over Lizzie's strange new habit. It's so weird and unnatural, and what was that feeling I had? It felt like an electrochemical impulse or something, which is absolutely ridiculous. Static electricity's also out of the question...

Maybe it's best if I just don't think of that right now. Or, for that matter, possibly ever.

Oh well. Maybe it's just a phase, or something new she's picked up. After all, this is Lizzie I'm talking about. She's not going to be doing it for any romantic reasons. But then why did she mention kissing back like it's something I'm supposed to do? She's my sister. And she definitely had judged my abilities in respect to Teddy's. It must be wrong, but I felt such a level of satisfaction knowing that I was better than Teddy. Still, I'm not the stepbrother she wants, after all, so what would kissing me accomplish really? I don't get it, but maybe I could talk to her about... On second thought, that's not going to work.

I'm going to just have to accept it, go with it.

But still... this new "greeting" of hers is _definitely_ going to take some getting used to.

- Loren ;*


	7. Covalent Bond

Okay, so for starters, this chapter is quite ridiculously long. For this fic, at least. Here's your Spring Break present, or March Break, as it is known elsewhere. You might say that it is early, but that's only because I go on Spring Break much earlier than practically anyone. Not that you care, darlings.

Hm, in this chapter, we see some more of Edwin's homelife... The poor boy is really having an awful time everywhere he goes. And it introduces a new twist toward the middle. Plus I finally do get back to the Chaos Theory that started it all. And we have yet another old friend in the picture (though, really, we already found out she was in the picture last chapter, didn't we?). Ooh, and there's a rather risque flashback. I apologize. I did feel really uncomfortable writing it. Oh, and you get to see the lovely clip that's posted in the summary.

Randomly, this chapter takes place on a Saturday in either late-ish October or perhaps November. Most of the chapters take place within days of each other.

Do I even need a disclaimer? I mean, really, isn't it a given that I do not own the show or any of the characters contained therein? The only character I own in this chapter is C, actually, and that's really ironic since I didn't even know about the end of the show at that point... Back to my point, though, clearly I'm not Daphne Ballon in disguise or anything. I don't even live in Canada, after all. Plus I'm writing about stepsibling love, so, yeah, there's another sign for you. It occurred to me the other day that the writers or actors or anyone even remotely connected with the show would be rather mortified to read Wanting Casey. But they'd be amused too, at any rate, I figure, because it's just twisted enough to be interesting. But enough about that dreadful story. I've already decided I like this one better.

Anyways, thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and for giving my fair story a decent chance. Even though it's not Derek/Casey. I really am trying to prove that Lizzie and Edwin can be just as interesting and dynamic, and that just for once, they do deserve to be more than a subplot.

Enjoy!

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**Covalent Bond**: The most common type of chemical bonding, where two or more nonmetal atoms share electrons.

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_Chaos theory is applicable to more than just action-potential reactions in neurons and population growth. It's evident in more than just the orbits of planets and satellites and quantum mechanics. In fact, chaos theory is a large part of our daily lives._

I frowned, glancing at the words. That "our" kind of ruins the whole third-person objective point of view, despite its truth and potential for appeal. I contemplated it for a moment and was poised to delete it when Dad suddenly walked into my room. He startled me so much that I jumped and almost knocked the chair over. Dad gave me an apologetic look, peering curiously at my computer. I scowled. He was probably checking to see if I was watching downloaded porn.

Like I'm Derek or something. Although, then again, Derek probably made some of his own porn videos. I bet he had some very willing female costars. I rolled my eyes, calling my dad back to attention. "Well, Dad, if you're done hoping there's some hot girl-on-girl action on my PC that you could "confiscate", would you like to tell me what you're doing here?" I retorted irritably. He was ruining my stride. I'd completely lost my train of thought now that he was in there. Parents... can't live with them, can't shoot them in the head when they're pissing you off. Dad glared at me, and I matched his stare.

"Don't be a smart-ass, Edwin," Dad muttered, looking none-too pleased. Dad looked tired, actually. He'd gotten enough of that from Derek, and, for some reason, he wouldn't take it from anyone else. How that is fair is beyond me. I rolled my eyes at him, biting back the sarcastic retort. Or what, you'll ground me? I wasn't afraid of Dad. What could he take away from me that I couldn't live without? I don't date, and I can live without my TV. It's not even like I play a sport. He could take away the car, but then Lizzie would just drive me around. He threw something down on my desk, and, even without looking, I knew what it was.

I scowled and pushed the object back at him, motioning dismissively for him to take it. "Dad, I am not your personal accountant. It's bad enough that I do your taxes, but I refuse to balance your checkbook. I'm not ten anymore, Dad. You can do it on your own," I snapped, scolding him. Then I turned back moodily to stare at my computer as if it held any answers. Predictably, Dad tried to act tough. Did he honestly think I'd buy his macho authoritarian act? I lived here when Derek reigned King on High, and Dad pretty much let him. Dad's so clueless he can't even remember his own children's birthdays, and I'm supposed to take him seriously? I know it's disrespectful and all, but he has to earn my respect by actually pretending to give a damn about me every once in a while. He slammed his hand down on my desk. I looked at him because that was what he wanted.

He seemed to be insistent, but I didn't care. I ignored the pleading look in his eyes, enjoying my position of power. I knew it would come to an end soon enough. "It's elementary math, Dad. Addition and subtraction. Get a calculator," I said dryly. Or a new son, I thought bitterly. I found myself very glad I'd closed my log before he came up. It would not do well for him to find out that Lizzie had kissed me twice.

Dad glowered at me and pushed the checkbook back to me. "**Yes**, Edwin, you _will _do it because I am your father, and I said so," Dad argued stubbornly. It's funny how Dad finally grew a backbone, and to think all it took was Derek leaving. Not even a "please" this time. I rolled my eyes once again and quietly logged off my computer. I knew the way these things usually went. He'd threaten me in a few moments, and then he'd bully me into doing it... but not this time. I want to have control of my own life for one damn minute... one moment where no one wants anything from me. Where there's no meddlesome older brother trying to give me what I don't want, no Jamie wanting me to hook him up with my sister, no Teddy looking for a distraction, no Tanya looking for love in all the wrong places, no Dad to make me do his taxes, no mother figure to guilt-trip me, no Lizzie to use me, no one to bully me or boss me around, and most of all, no one to compare me to Derek.

I shook my head and stood up abruptly, shooting him a scathing look. "Not this time, Dad. I'm not your damn servant, so go find someone else to do it," I growled, shoving my schoolbooks into my backpack. Dad reached out for me, but I was busy snatching other things I knew I'd need like clothes, some money, deodorant, and my cell phone. I zipped the thing shut, knowing I couldn't come back home tonight, flinging the sack onto my shoulder. I stomped towards the door, but Dad grabbed me, trying to intercede.

He shook his head firmly, clutching my arm. "No, son, you're not going anywhere," Dad ordered. I ignored him, wrenching free from his grip and throwing the door open. "Not if I have anything to say about it." I disagree, I thought smugly, racing down the stairs. I had just enough time to grab my jacket on the way off, and I sure was lucky to have it. Then I ran for as long and as far as I could, hiding from my father as much as I possibly could. I wasn't going to come back for at least a day, maybe two. I could stay with either Derek or Dan, even though I know those are the first places Dad would look. Derek would protect me, at least. If that doesn't work, I could always head to Toronto for the weekend and hide out with Casey, or, more likely, my new future step-brother-in-law-to-be, Noel.

I shrugged on my coat, but it wasn't really that cold out. It was a little nippy but the good kind, the refreshing kind, the kind that reminds you you're alive. The sky was dark and overcast, but it was as nice as could be expected. I wandered aimlessly in the darkness for what felt like hours, and when I looked up and finally stopped walking, chilled to the bone, I realized that I was in front of Michelle's old house. It was a silly place to go, especially since she wouldn't even be there, but there I was nonetheless. Why would my feet lead me here, of all places? For a moment I just stared up at it, wondering about its new owners, wondering about Michelle, thinking how lonely the house looked and how even more lonely I felt. My phone had been buzzing until I turned it off, unwilling to hear Dad or Lizzie's appeals.

Truthfully, I didn't mind hearing from Lizzie, but I didn't want to go home. She would undoubtedly try to talk me into doing it, and I definitely would because I can't say no to her. I glanced briefly down at my watch and noticed it was getting late, so I reluctantly tore my eyes from the gray building. I turned and set out in the direction of Derek's apartment. Imagine my surprise when I promptly ran into the lady of the hour herself, Michelle. You could've knocked me over with a feather. "M-Michelle? What are you doing here?" I stuttered, still shell-shocked.

Michelle looked self-conscious and more beautiful than I remembered. Her skin was tan, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes were so clear, even though I only caught a flash of them. She still had the same willowy physique, thin but not muscular, and she seemed the same height if not shorter. Everything in moderation, I'd always joked. Her hair seemed a bit darker, more of a dirty blonde color, and it was longer than before, almost down to her waist. Staring at the wavy strands of gold, I was reminded of Sally, and I felt nervous all over again. My heart leaped into my throat, and I felt exactly like Derek must've. And then it hit me, full-force, just how much and how dearly I had missed her. It was good, so good to see her again. She seemed nervous, wrapping a piece of hair around her finger like gold thread. "Hi, Edwin," she mumbled, unable to look at me. Her voice was quiet.

It didn't feel like the normal awkwardness in such a situation. It felt like I'd done something wrong. Something had clearly shifted in our relationship, and I found myself disheartened. I'd been looking forward to seeing her again, maybe even asking her out. Yet somehow, with her here now, all of that seemed so... impossible. "I... It's good to see you again," I said, letting out a shaky breath. I eyed her nervously, waiting for a reaction, but her face was impassive. The dark obscured her expression, and I couldn't see her eyes since she was looking down. She still remembered how well I could read her, obviously.

Michelle still said nothing, and my confusion intensified.

I felt like a fish out of water. It was the first time I could remember feeling that way in years, since Derek left, maybe, or even after that. I struggled to find the words to say what I wanted to without revealing too much. I didn't want to be vulnerable or anything. Like my brother, I have self-preservational instincts that keep others from getting too close. Sometimes we're more alike than I'd care to admit.

"I've really missed you, Michelle."

There it was, out in the open against my will. I hadn't meant to say that, but that was what had come out. I exhaled nervously, and my breath came out in a visible cloud. I hadn't realized it was that cold. For a long moment there was silence. She wasn't even looking at me, but she wasn't moving either. I didn't know what to do. My fingers were itching to reach out, but somehow I was paralyzed. Then, finally, Michelle looked up at me. She shook her head slowly. "_Don't_, Edwin," she breathed.

"Don't what?" I found myself asking insistently, taking a step towards her. Michelle did not look comfortable. She eyed me with some small measure of disgust. This from the girl who went out with me when I was a scrawny fourteen-year-old and nothing to look at whatsoever. It was a look I was well-accustomed to, and it made me feel all over again as if I was that awkward preteen with no luck with girls. I felt like that boy asking my big brother for advice once again, the lonely one who had to make out with Sir Monksalot in the damn Games Closet because none of the girls would ever go near him. And it was so absolutely infuriating and insulting that it could not be borne.

Michelle's gaze was level, calm, and unflinching. "Don't say things like that. Don't try to get me to take you back. Because I can't," Michelle whispered. There was a steely undertone in her voice, a hidden strength there. I suddenly realized that she was very much changed, and I hadn't noticed it at all. I frowned, confused as to what she'd meant. I had said nothing to indicate I wanted that, and somehow she saw further than I did. Even so, why couldn't she, I wondered. "I won't put up with that sort of thing, and you know it." My confusion deepened. What on Earth was she talking about?

I bit my lip nervously, feeling suddenly very small. "I'm afraid I don't get what you mean," I murmured curiously. I stared at her expectantly, waiting for an answer to my question. Michelle's brow furrowed, and I recognized the new look on her face. She was angry, downright furious even. I could never recall making her that upset before. What could I have possibly done, after all? It was the first time I'd seen her since we broke up a little more than two years ago.

Her lips were in a tight line, almost white with the pressure of holding them together. She drew herself up a little, casually throwing a hand on her hip. Her eyes burned into me accusingly, making me feel guilty for a crime I didn't know of, much less commit. "I walked to your house yesterday. I wanted to see you, and Dan said he'd heard that you wanted to see me too. What he failed to mention, however, was that you were already dating someone else!" Michelle exclaimed angrily. The rage brought a pleasant, deeper flush to her cheeks. I admired her in silence for a moment before the words sunk in, wondering how I had ever had a girlfriend that beautiful. She was like Venus.

Then it hit me. Dating someone, me? Since when was I dating someone? Logically, that's something that I should know! There hadn't been anyone for a whole year. All I could think of was that maybe she had run into Tanya stalking me and had gotten understandably confused from her dumb ramblings. That didn't make much sense either because Tanya had been slightly obsessed with me when Michelle was here, and so her affection deepening wouldn't have been that shocking. Besides, Michelle definitely knew me well enough to know that I had no interest whatsoever in Tanya. I began to wonder if maybe Eleanor had been running her mouth about what happened yesterday, but I ultimately decided against it. After all, she's a freshman, and I'm Derek Venturi's kid brother. Who would you believe?

At any rate, Lizzie and Teddy were the only two witnesses, and Lizzie wouldn't say a word since I saved her. Teddy probably wouldn't mention it either, knowing what's best for him. Still, those two were all the women I could think of, as no other females had been within the vicinity of my house lately except for Nora and Mrs. Davis. I stared at Michelle incredulously, realizing with a start that she was probably so mad because she was jealous. A cocky grin spread across my lips, unbidden, and I adopted a suave tone I'd heard my brother use time and time again to "smooth things over." I can be charming when I want to be. "Really? I'm dating someone? You know, I thought I was supposed to know about this sort of thing," I drawled dryly.

Michelle's other hand moved up to rest on her hip. Even if I had been dating someone else, what business was that of Michelle's? We'd been broken up for two years! She shook her head stubbornly. "I saw you kissing her, Edwin," Michelle said flatly. I frowned, wondering who she could possibly mean. Could she have seen me kiss Eleanor? The car was moving then, and I know we'd been further down the road, not so close to my house.

"Who?" I asked, seriously confounded. Michelle huffed. I think she thought I was joking, but I was honestly bewildered. I wanted to know just who she thought I was seeing, and I figured I was owed that right. After all, I'm supposedly dating this person, and I ought to have a choice.

She rolled her eyes and stubbornly refused to answer. I found myself quickly losing patience with her. If she's going to accuse me of something, she ought to at least tell me who my partner-in-crime is. I continued to stare at her cluelessly, hoping to spur her into action. Finally, Michelle snapped. "Don't act like you don't know damn well who I'm talking about," she hissed in a low voice. She approached me seething, cheeks bright red with barely suppressed rage, and she grabbed me hard by the shoulders and shook me. Michelle had never touched me like that before. "LIZZIE!" Michelle screeched, leaning in so close to me that our noses practically touched.

I blinked in confusion, and, at first, I really couldn't believe it. It had to be a mistake. She couldn't mean Lizzie, _my _Lizzie. There had to be some other girl in the grade... someone else I'd been with. Elizabeth is a common name, after all. "Lizzie who?" I managed a few moments later. Michelle's eyes widened, and she shook me again. She was radiating waves of disbelief.

"LIZZIE FREAKING MCDONALD, EDWIN! YOUR DAMN STEPSISTER!" Michelle screamed, punching me in the chest a few times, knocking me back a foot or two. I went slack-jawed at that. I shook my head frantically. It wasn't true, damn it! We're not that kind of family. I am not a Goler, and I think of Lizzie as a sister. Purely as a sister. Michelle shook her head back, and her eyes burned. "I saw you kissing her! You can't deny it, Edwin!" Michelle added breathlessly. I wanted to correct her, to tell her that Lizzie had kissed me, but I knew that wouldn't sound any better.

So I did what I could. Obviously I couldn't have her thinking that I was dating my stepsister, because it was only a short jump then to doing her, and... I don't want to think about that, and I just don't. Plus, I could just imagine the rumors, and they would kill both of our reputations, or at least hurt them. "That was nothing, Michelle," I replied smoothly. "It was a family kiss. I walked her home and helped save her from a disastrous date with Teddy. She was grateful. It meant nothing," I explained succinctly, not even batting an eyelash. The response was so automatic that it almost sounded phony, and that was how my ex took it.

She rolled her eyes and reached out to shove me. However, I took a step back before her hands connected with my chest, thereby thwarting her plans. I wasn't about to take any more abuse tonight, much less from her. "I'm not stupid, Edwin. I heard the rumors, and you don't think I didn't watch you two? There was something there that I didn't understand, but I didn't know what it was... The whole thing never sat right with me anyway. There was always something about you that I could never get, a part of you that was so off-limits to me. You and Lizzie were so close, so close it made me worry, and you knew everything about each other. So I couldn't help but wonder from time to time, and of course I always shook my head and wrote it off, said I was delusional... but I was wrong," Michelle insisted. She held her head high and proudly, and her face was free of any traces of embarrassment.

I couldn't believe that she, of all people, was pulling this on me. I felt betrayed. Okay, maybe she had a bit of a point. I could acknowledge that. I mean, it's one thing when Dan points these things out, but Michelle saying that stuff was another thing entirely. "You, of all people, know that I am not into Lizzie! You have no right to just convict me of dating her, especially when I'm not! I haven't dated anyone for a year, Michelle!" I retorted irritably. Who was she to judge me? I thought she knew who I was, and she ought to know that I see Lizzie as a sister. "Jeez, Michelle. That's sick. Lizzie's my goddamn sister, and I'd be a sick bastard if I ever thought of her like that!" I snarled, feeling sick to my stomach remembering those awful dreams I'd had.

Michelle looked nonplussed and somewhat annoyed. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded me impassively. "But you can't say you're not at least attracted to her," Michelle said matter-of-factly. She was right about that, but there was no way I was going to admit to that, so I shook my head abruptly. Of course, I couldn't actually think of anything to say, which didn't exactly help manners. She doesn't get it.

"You don't get it," I blurted irascibly. Michelle rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in disbelief.

"Oh, I get it just _fine_, Edwin," Michelle growled. She shook her head, shooting me a dirty look. She seemed to see right through me. "I was always jealous of Lizzie. For as long as I could remember, you two had been best friends, and I felt like she could get inside of you and reach parts of you I'd only dreamed of... But I tried to ignore that, and I pretended I didn't hear any of the rumors floating around. But I knew. I _always _knew. And I actually felt guilty for being jealous... because of course you would never cheat on me, and Lizzie was so nice and sweet to me that I couldn't hate her even when I wanted to. Neither of you were like that. But still, I couldn't completely forget about it, and I couldn't just get rid of the envy. So I told myself it was only natural because you two were so close, and she always got your attention... and, hell, what girlfriend wouldn't be concerned about an attractive girl living under the same roof as her boyfriend? Who wouldn't be suspicious?" Michelle continued rapidly, getting caught up in her story.

The words spilled out of her faster all the time and more accusing. Venom trickled out of her a drop at a time, poisoning me slowly, paralyzing me like curare. "Who wouldn't be jealous of that?" Her words fell on my heart like a violent chemical reaction. Suspicion flickered in her eyes. Michelle smiled bitterly, moving closer to me. "And it looks like I was right," she said before I could deny it. I opened my mouth, fully ready to debate that with her, because she was wrong, wrong, wrong, so monumentally wrong, but she spoke first, cutting me off.

She jabbed me hard in the chest. "I want to know when it started. How long did you wait before finally giving in and visiting your stepsister's bedroom at night? A couple months, a year maybe?" she demanded imperiously. Michelle had changed so much, but, as I was starting to realize, the change wasn't necessarily for the better. The girl before me was no more than a stranger, albeit one I recognized and used to date. I shook my head, moving backwards, hotly offended, and attempted to contest her argument. However, like she did earlier, Michelle interrupted. "Tell me, Edwin! How long have you been screwing your stepsister?!" she snarled, grabbing me by the shoulders roughly. Her pretty pink nails dug into the soft, vulnerable flesh as she shook me.

I pushed her off of me with more force than was probably necessary, but I was seeing red, so I didn't give a damn. I couldn't believe she thought I was banging my stepsister! She actually thought that I would sink that low in her absence... that I would forget everything I ever learned about morals and ethics and so on... for what, easy access to sex? Why Lizzie, out of all the other girls she could've picked... Who was she to just presume and assume things about my life when she'd been out of it for two years? Who was she to believe some lousy rumors over me? She was supposed to know me. She had earlier. Where was that girl, the one I'd almost lo... where was she?

My face turned about a thousand shades of red, and I could practically feel the steam coming out of my ears. "I'm not lying to you! I'm **not **having sex with her, Michelle! And even if I was, that's none of your _damn _business, now is it? We're not dating anymore, and that was _your _decision, not mine!" I snapped venomously, gesticulating wildly. I had suggested a long-distance relationship, and she'd said it would be unfair to both of us. She'd broken up with me in the end, and that was a position I resolved never to be in again because it sucked that much. A year of dating, and she accuses me of moving right on to my sister. You think you know somebody.

Michelle flinched almost as if stricken. My sex life wasn't any of her business. After all, I'd never even slept with her! It took her a solid minute to regain her composure. "Seriously, Ed, Lizzie has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She doesn't need any saving. The girl can do it herself. Saying you tripped and fell on her lips would've been a better excuse!" Michelle pointed out quite sensibly. If I didn't know the truth of the matter, I might even agree with her, were the situations reversed or something like that. However, I did, and I wasn't about to backtrack because she didn't understand it. I shook my head quietly, not wanting to waste a word arguing against her. It really wasn't worth it.

After all, I had no chance, or, really, desire to get back with her. She was just saying what everyone else was thinking. The only difference was that it hurt more. It was one thing to have Dan say something, or to have Derek think... Sure, they knew me better, but they had a point, even if I don't want to think about it. However, it was a whole other thing to hear my ex-girlfriend, the one girl I'd gotten close to other than Lizzie, say that she thought we were sleeping together. Even Dan hadn't been that crude in his jokes. It was especially annoying or painful, what you will... to hear her say that she'd suspected things of a relationship that was so innocent, much less while we were dating?

I understand being intimidated, and I understand thinking something's up... but being so blunt about it and reading into things that weren't even there? I felt betrayed. After all, she was Lizzie's friend too. "Whatever, Michelle. She's my sister and my best friend, and I'm sorry you can't get that... What am I talking about? I don't **need **to justify my relationship with Lizzie to you. I'm not dating you now, and I won't be later. With the way you've been talking about the both of us, you're not even a friend anymore," I muttered bitterly. I didn't need to tell Michelle a thing about my relationship with Lizzie. What business was it of hers anyway?

An almost hurt look came over her face, but she quickly erased it, and her face became impassive once more. "You're not telling me anything I didn't already know. After all, Lizzie wouldn't want you seeing or befriending your ex, now would she?" Michelle said frostily. She paused, eying me objectively. "You look good, Ed. I'll give you that. But I can't help but think you're out of your league. I mean, Lizzie's dated a lot of guys who had a lot going for them. Remember Tony?" Michelle replied, hinting at something. Tony was the captain of the hockey team our sophomore year. Lizzie dated him for a pretty long time. Right before she stopped dating, actually. He might've been her last boyfriend. I'd never liked the guy, and, frankly, he was no Derek Venturi.

I stood up to my full height, ensuring that I towered over her. For some reason I felt the need to intimidate her. "What are you trying to say about Lizzie?" I asked tersely. I didn't like something in her tone. There was something in her voice that set me on edge, that made me feel the necessity of protecting my sister. Michelle looked up at me suddenly, shaking her head.

"I'm just saying that she's dated a lot of guys... guys who were better and bigger than you." She means that they're more muscular, athletic-types, jocks. The kind of guy who could kick my ass. But when she said that Lizzie's reject-boyfriends were better than me? That really pissed me off. I felt insulted. Michelle shrugged in a mock-helpless way. "Her relationships don't last long, Edwin. You can't tell me you haven't noticed that," Michelle pointed out, shooting me a look. I bristled at the look. I didn't know what it meant exactly, but I didn't like it. I hadn't ever really thought about my sister's dating patterns (odd, I know, since I search for observable patterns in every facet of my daily life), but she doesn't date guys for very long. She did kind of just flit on to the next one, but Lizzie's relationships were usually casual. She generally cut things off before they got very serious.

I made a mental note to make a chart of her relationships and how long they'd lasted. Even Lizzie and her love-life weren't exempt from my search for patterns. I filed this in a corner of my brain, however, and focused on the conversation at hand. "She'll dump you after a few weeks, like she dumps all of them. Then she'll move on to the next guy, the newest model. I'm just telling you, Ed, because I still care about you... I don't want to see you hurt. She's going to break your heart," Michelle chronicled, sounding a little said. There was, however, an underlying harshness in her voice.

Now, many things about that statement disturbed me. For one, she'd moved on from thinking that I was sleeping with my stepsister to somehow assuming that we were dating. Since I'd denied the first allegation, I thought it was a bit of a jump. Unbelievably, the thought of me dating Lizzie makes me feel sicker than the thought of sleepi... Then again, it could be because I've actually contemplated that, but briefly, insanely, when I was tired and clearly out of my mind. This is why I started dating again. Not to mention the even more disturbing fact that she seemed to think I'd fallen for my sister. Then there was what really offended me, which was what she'd implied about my sister. "I don't like what you're trying to say about Lizzie, Michelle," I said stiffly.

Michelle rolled her eyes at me. "It just _figures _that you'd defend her. I'm only looking out for you, and you still defend Lizzie from what, something implied?" Michelle exclaimed, sounding a bit exasperated. I scowled at her, surprised. Had she ever known who I was? Lizzie is my sister, and I will always protect her. What, did Michelle still think she had enough influence over me to turn me against my family? Did she expect me to agree with her when she was so blind and so prejudiced on this subject? Fat chance.

Needless to say, I was pissed off. "Why wouldn't I defend her, Michelle? She's my sister. I'm not about to turn my back on my family just because of something _you _said, and you basically said she's a whore," I growled. There it was. I'd said it, what she'd been implying. I made sure to point out how meaningless her opinion was to me. And then I thought of something that made me even more furious. "You're such a _hypocrite_, Michelle! You pretend like you care, and you worry about Lizzie breaking my heart. But need I remind you that you broke up with me without having any of same concerns? You didn't give a **damn **how I felt. You just wanted to cut the baggage so you could go date some new guy in Montreal without feeling guilty about it!" I snarled viciously. I could never remember being so furious with her, or, for that matter, anyone in my life.

It had hurt... a lot, but I don't like to talk about it much. She left me with barely a second glance and a hug, and you know who was there for me? Lizzie was the one who was there for me. She was the one who hugged me and hung out with me for two weeks straight. She said nothing when I was moping around, but she was always there to put a hand on my back and listen when I needed to talk. She was the one who did anything she could, even if it was something silly, to cheer me up. She was the one who encouraged me to start dating again. She even went so far as to set me up on blind dates with some of her hot friends. So that's how I know. Lizzie was never going to hurt me like that, not like Michelle. Ever. Of course she has the potential to... I depend on Lizzie. I wouldn't be me without her, and I can't imagine my life without her in it.

Well, okay, I can... and it would suck ass. So, of course I'm going to choose Lizzie over Michelle or any other girl. Just asking me to make that decision is absurd. Michelle had the decency to at least look ashamed. She should. For as calm and "mutual" as our break-up was, she sure didn't stick around to see the ugly aftermath. I shook my head in disgust, turned on my heel, and left. I felt a little like Casey, which made me feel nauseous and overly dramatic, but I kept walking briskly. Anything to get away from her. And to think I was actually going to ask her out again! Ugh. The mere thought was now repulsive to me.

Fortunately, I was walking in the direction of Derek's place. For a while, I was still so mad that I just kept walking aimlessly, heading forwards, straight, straight, straight. My eyes stared dimly into the darkness. I looked around at my surroundings when I felt like I could breathe again, and I noticed that I was somehow on Dan's street. His house was only ten or so meters away. I caught my breath, seeing it come out of my lungs in a white puff. It had gotten a lot colder, and my jacket wasn't enough to keep out the cold. I eyed Dan's house for a minute. The front porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. I contemplated going inside, partly because I doubted my dad would know to look there. Lizzie, however, would. I sighed, shaking my head, and slowly passed the house. That's a no. Derek's apartment it is.

It was a pretty long walk, but I could manage. I wasn't in a particular hurry, so I put my hands in my pockets, clenching my shoulders to try and keep some of the warmth in my body. I glanced over and suddenly noticed a car following me. At first I was worried. After all, who wouldn't be worried? It was going at a speed of five kilometers per hour. The window slowly rolled down to reveal a familiar face, but I didn't need to see her to know who it was. I recognized the car soon enough. It was the Prince, which we're now stuck with. It's a wonder it still functions, really. I sighed and shot Lizzie a look. "Go away."

Lizzie pouted. "Ed, that's no way to talk to your favorite sister," she scolded with a light giggle. She should've said favorite stepsister. It's not exactly fair to Marti to say that I like Lizzie more than her. After all, she's my blood sister. I rolled my eyes at her and turned away. I kept walking. Lizzie kept driving. The comment only served to reinforce my whole encounter with Michelle and the very un-brotherly thoughts I'd been having about her lately. I grimaced at the unpleasant thoughts. "So... What are you doing out here?"

I frowned and turned to look at her. "Got in a fight with George," I mumbled. It was my goal to be as monosyllabic as possible. I turned back, but I could feel Lizzie's confused glance.

"Uh, forgive me, Ed, but you don't normally walk out of the house when you get in a fight with George," Lizzie said a bit anxiously. I said nothing but kept walking. She was right, of course, but it was one thing after another. I was sick of people asking me to do things for them. They always expect me to say yes because I'm a nice guy, and then I do. It was just one more thing, you know? That day Jamie had called me up. When I was at home, on my personal cell phone (how he got my number I can only guess, and I can't really do that), while I was writing my paper. He interrupted me to yammer on about how much he loved Lizzie. The man would've been waxing poetic, only he isn't witty or creative.

Wow, I'm being kind of harsh here. Jamie and I used to be friends, but I guess all that resentment I had for him during middle school kind of built up. It's not just me either. He's always blamed me for their break-up, and I guess he was always a little jealous of my relationship with her. We (meaning Lizzie and I) just got closer as he and Lizzie drifted apart... even despite what happened.

So, we had a long talk... it lasted about an hour and a half, if not more. He was being whiny and angsting over her and half-berating me for not doing anything. The unoriginal fool decided to become her secret admirer. I warned him briefly that Lizzie wouldn't really go for it at all, as she tended to prefer the direct approach (which Jamie should've known just as well as me), but, per usual, the dumbass didn't listen to me. He said he'd take care of what gift to put with it, adding that he knew her locker combination. I thought that was vaguely creepy and that he'd probably get the wrong gift, but I didn't say anything because I really wanted to shut him up. However, the little jerk apparently remembered that rap I wrote way back when, and he decided that I can write poetry. His royal pain-in-the-ass then degreed that I ought to write the love note. To my sister. Did he not see the problem in that?

Conflict of interest much?

I pointed out that he was the one who actually dated her, so wouldn't he know better than me? Nevertheless, he made me agree to it, though, so I found myself trying to write a sonnet. Okay, so maybe I'm kidding about the sonnet thing, but I was trying to write poetry. Or something to that effect. While I was still attempting to write, Derek called. He asked me how things were going with Lizzie, and then he asked a favor of me. I had to go pick some things up for him. After that Liz begged me to go shopping with her for sexier clothes (read: for Derek), and since I can't refuse her anything, I went. That was approximately torture, watching her parade around in all those skimpy clothes, and I was so hot with anger that they were for Derek. She shouldn't have to change for him, but she is. She wears more make-up now and makes sure her hair's always looking nice, and she wears more revealing clothes, like that will make Derek change his mind about her.

Then I had to make dinner because Nora was over at Aunt Fiona's, trying to talk her out of divorcing Uncle Harry again. So, when Dad interrupted me, I was pretty damn sick of playing Mr. Nice Guy. Ugh. I still have to write that dumb poem. I let out a shuddering breath. It had been a long day. "What was the fight even about?" Lizzie asked quietly.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "He wanted me to balance his checkbook." Again. I'm so sick of being everybody's slave. It makes me feel like I'm someone's whipping boy. Lizzie scoffed, although she knows as well as I do just how much that pisses me off.

"You've never run off before," Lizzie remarked pointedly. I glared daggers at her, but she didn't stop. She shot me a pleading look. "Come on, Ed. Get in the car." I defiantly shook my head no. Lizzie rolled her eyes and gave me another look. "Seriously, Ed. It's freezing outside. Where are you going to go? Derek's? It's a ways, Edwin. You might as well just get in the car already," she said, attempting to persuade me. I ignored her, even though I was really cold. I knew that if I got in there she'd just drive back home, and I didn't want to go back there.

Lizzie huffed. "Okay, how 'bout if I promise you that we're not going home?" It suddenly occurred to me that she too would take an interest in sleeping over at Derek's. I gave her a skeptical look. "Like I want to go back there? It's a zoo! Marti just got her period, so she's being all dramatic about that... And Sebastian's friends, Jake and Ryan, are spending the night. Why on earth Mom let a four-year-old have a sleepover is completely beyond me... Trust me when I say they won't miss us," Lizzie rambled. I looked over at her and watched the different expressions flit across her face with some amusement. She was so animated.

Sebastian, or Sebastard (Seabass and sometimes Seabiscuit), as Derek likes to call him affectionately when Nora's not there, is our little brother. Our mutual little brother. He's basically the thing other than Nora's wedding ring tying us all together as a family. Imagine everyone's surprise when Nora got pregnant when Liz and I were in eighth grade. I remember a lot of the house, or, generally, most of it, was pretty pissed off. Liz and I knew we'd get ignored even more, and Marti was upset that she wasn't going to be the youngest anymore. Marti became even more upset when she heard it was a boy; she'd wanted a sister and already had "two other stupid brothers." Casey was upset because it was just going to ruin her last year of high school, as was Derek, who really did not want to be kept up all hours of the night for some runt. And then there was the question of where the little bugger was going to sleep. He wound up in the basement with Dad and Nora, and he's been there ever since (he does, however, get Casey's room once he's old enough).

The funny thing is that Derek and Casey were like his parents for the beginning of his life. Dad was really busy with a bunch of cases trying to raise money to pay for college for all of us, and Nora was working full-time again because money was tight. Derek and Casey were the ones who wound up picking up the slack and taking care of all of us for the majority of the year, except when Nora went on maternity leave. Considering that Derek and Casey are the most self-absorbed people I have ever met, they were surprisingly good at this. They'd both matured a lot and were really helpful. They also seemed to care a lot more than I'd ever realized (and a lot more than our actual parents did, considering Dad forgets my birthday every year). Now, this was probably because it was their last year living at home, but still...

Casey fell in love with little Sebastian. When she wasn't busy, she was likely spending time with him. She liked to lavish lots of physical affection on him, holding him and bestowing him with frequent kisses and hugs. She took such a shine to him that she put off college until after Winter Break to stay home and take care of him (although it didn't hurt that thanks to college courses and AP classes, Casey had pretty much completed a full semester, if not more). When she first went away, Casey came back to visit so often it was like she was still living there. He even called her Mama for a time, you know. She was like his mother that first year, and I think a part of him still remembers that because he worships the ground she walks on. Derek likes the sucker too, of course, but he generally just took the little kid everywhere to get girls.

Okay, Derek was more parental than that. Sebastian, or C as Lizzie and I call him (his middle name is Charles, and Sea is pronounced that way), tends to take after Marti and Derek. He's an absolute monster sometimes, but everybody loves him because he's just so cute. He's a wild, crazy kid, and he's definitely given our parents more than their share of gray hairs, though I suppose he can be considered a relief when compared to Derek and Casey's infamous battles. C and his crazy friends were more than enough for Nora and Dad. So I sighed and nodded to Lizzie. "Okay," I said, and Lizzie parked. I walked around the back of the car and climbed into the passenger's seat.

Liz smiled at me lopsidedly and rolled up the window. I shivered in the warmth of the car, fastening my seatbelt and just letting the warmth seep in. It felt good, but my hands were still cold and numb. For a moment we stayed like that, in silence, with Lizzie driving and me absorbing the heat with my eyes closed. Then Lizzie spoke and broke the spell. "So, want to tell me what made you snap? Running away... it's not like you," Lizzie asked softly. I felt her eyes on my face.

Did she know me at all? I always run away from things. It's what I do. That's what I did when Ronnie was bullying me, and that's what I spent half of my childhood doing... running from Derek. It's a wonder I haven't regressed to it, really. Now I just stand there and take it. I answered without even opening my eyes. "It was just one of those days, Liz," I muttered wearily. I leaned back into the seat, trying to make myself more comfortable. I knew Lizzie was nodding or doing something equally inane, but I didn't care. I wanted to put her out of my mind entirely. Michelle had brought up some unpleasant points, and I didn't want to obsess over them anymore than I already was.

It's very annoying not being able to control your thoughts, especially if they're unwanted and persistent. Makes you think you're losing your mind. I thought she was just going to leave it at that, so I tried my best to drift off into some sort of sleep, but then I felt Lizzie's soft hand on my cheek, turning me to face her. "Edwin, come on." I grumbled and opened my eyes reluctantly. For a brief moment, I wondered how she was driving and looking at me. It just didn't seem safe. "What's wrong?" she asked soothingly.

Do I want to tell you? No, not really. I shook my head glumly, moving my head out of her grip. I didn't want to feel her hand on my face. I sighed, leaning against the window and watching the houses crawl past. "Nothing," I lied halfheartedly, knowing she could tell. After all, I'm not Derek, and I'm not even half as good a liar as he is. Hell, I can't even really lie to myself. I could feel Lizzie rolling her eyes at me, and I knew she didn't buy it, but I didn't really care. I couldn't tell her anyway. It was too awkward, too touchy a subject.

Lizzie, however, was determined to get me to talk. She can be awfully pushy when she's trying to help you. Normally I appreciate it. "Fine, Ed. If you're going to be that way, then we're going to have to talk about something else," she said primly. I rolled my eyes as she tried to think of something I would want to talk about even less. I scoffed at the mere thought, as if it was even possible! "Like why you haven't dated anyone in a year."

That was the best she could do? I turned to shoot her a look that plainly showed how stupid she was for asking. "You already know the answer to that, Liz." I paused, looking back out the window again, pressing my fingers against the cool glass. I leaned against it again, frowning. "Besides, I'm so sick of the high school dating scene. It's a shallow pool with few options and all the good ones are taken. I'm so tired of dating immature little chicklets who only want to be with me because my last name's Venturi. Everything in my fricking life always comes back to _Derek!_" I found myself rambling, failing to notice the anger until it crept up on me in an outburst. Nevertheless, it was true. Derek is the bane of my existence.

I'm sure Casey feels that she is alone in this feeling, but she's not. Girls only want to date me because he's my brother. People like Teddy admire him to the point of idol worship. My teachers expect me to be a slacker like him and hate me for it. No one expects anything of me but to be like Derek. But I'm not, and I can't be him. I have to live in his shadow. Derek still gets almost whatever he wants, despite that weird strain of mopiness lately... and he's the exception to every rule! Knowing him, he could probably bend gravity. How am I supposed to live up to that? Dad's being an asshole to me because he was too soft on Derek. My own siblings like him more than me. And now my best friend has fallen in love with him!

Is no one in my life immune to this feeling? What's more... everyone loves Derek and resents me, blames me for his flaws. They're not even mine. They just take it out on me. It's not fair. And I can't even hate Derek for it because he's my brother, and I love him, but, God, why does he have to be so damn _perfect _all the time?! He can't lose! He's like Ferris Bueller or something.

I glanced over at Lizzie, suddenly realizing that I might have offended her. Reminding her of Derek was a stupid thing to do, especially when I didn't want her thinking of him in the first place. She inhaled shallowly, keeping her eyes on the road so she wouldn't have to look at me. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I know how you feel." In a way, I guess, she did, what with Casey always being so perfect. Even her life came back to Derek. Originally both of their lives did, but Casey broke the cycle by getting as far away as she could stand. Lizzie swallowed, and there was a strange awkwardness in her. "Not about the dating thing, but... about Derek. Casey. That sort of thing. I know. I've... been there too," she managed somewhat queasily.

Frowning, I turned to face her more. I needed to get a better look at her. Lizzie, however, said nothing. Her brow merely furrowed, and a brief, determined look passed over her face. She squared her shoulders and drove on in an uncharacteristic silence. I wanted to grab her hand and tell her that she wasn't alone, or maybe I wanted her to do that to me... but she didn't, and... I didn't. It would've been weird. I remembered that dumb note I had to write for Jamie, remembering with chagrin that I'd stuffed it in my pocket before going shopping with Lizzie. Might as well work on it, I thought with a shrug, pulling the pen and paper out.

Smoothing out the paper on the dashboard, I stared down at what I'd written in messy cursive. I glanced briefly over at Lizzie, but she was too busy driving and ignoring me to notice. I added on a bit more as I read, embellishing certain parts.

_Dear Lizzie,_

_I've been noticing you lately. A lot. It's like I can't take my eyes off of you... and I don't want to. There's something about you. You're so beautiful I hardly know what to do with myself, and no one ever gives you credit for it. Not just that either, but you're approachable—compassionate, thoughtful, loyal, and so much more... I wish I could really tell you everything. I know you would understand._

_I'd like to tell you all the thoughts I've been thinking, but you don't know me. Not well, not really. And I'm scared. I'm scared that you might just reject me because I know I'm not what you have in mind when you're thinking about your dream guy. I'm not even close, and I know I'm out of my league. But I'd like to, someday, maybe... tell you, that is. If you'd let me._

I glanced it over anxiously. What do I know about landing girls? It didn't seem that great or romantic or anything. In fact, it seemed kind of awkward and pathetic, but what do I know about being a secret admirer? I know science and statistics. What if she recognizes my handwriting or some other aspect of the paper? That ought to be good enough for Jamie. Sure sounds like something he'd string together. I left the letter unsigned and quickly crumpled it up and put it in my pocket. I drummed my fingers on the dashboard, shooting surreptitious looks at Lizzie.

Eventually Lizzie sighed in frustration, stopping abruptly in front of a stop sign, and turned to face me. "What?" She almost growled. I raised my hands in a surrendering gesture, and Lizzie frowned. She glanced down a few moments later, almost as if ashamed. I was watching her lips, which were pursed. It looked like she was going to say something, but then she didn't. She seemed frozen in time, and I felt like there was something she was holding back from me.

Next thing I knew I was telling her about Michelle. "So I ran into Michelle earlier." I let those words hang in the air for a moment, watching for Lizzie's reaction. Her eyes were wide with surprise. I knew she was dying to ask questions, but there were so many she couldn't think of what to ask first. Lizzie's brow furrowed, and she looked confused.

"Ed, I know you were in love with her, but she's been gone for two years... Your eyes must've been playing tricks on you," Lizzie said immediately, trying to rationalize what I'd just said. I guess that makes sense. I said I ran into her, not that I actually saw her. I'd just failed to mention that she'd moved back. Still, I couldn't help but wonder vaguely why she didn't know. Lizzie and Michelle had been friends, at least, when we were dating. I shook my head sternly.

Lizzie suddenly seemed to notice that we were practically parked, so she pressed down on the gas and continued driving to Derek's house. She shook her head silently. I'd seen her in the flesh. She was anything but a vision. "I wasn't hallucinating, Liz. She's back now," I countered quietly. Lizzie glanced over at me, looking even more surprised than earlier. She was so surprised, in fact, that she did a doubletake. I suddenly realized that Lizzie had said I was in love with Michelle, and I hadn't corrected her. I did care for Michelle... a lot more than I thought possible... but I would never go so far as to say I loved her.

"Oh." Liz flicked the turn signal, glancing at the empty street for traffic before slowly turning. Once this was achieved, she resumed eying me out of the corner of her eye. "So..." She took a deep breath, laughing a little. "That must've been awkward." I nodded, wholly agreeing with her. You wouldn't believe me if I told you, I thought ironically. Lizzie snorted. "What did you say to her?" she asked casually, clearly wondering what anyone could've possibly said in a situation like that.

I shrugged, resuming my moody staring out the window. What to tell her? "What do you say in a situation like that?" I couldn't say I missed her. Not to Lizzie. I could barely even say that to Michelle. Lizzie gave me a sympathetic look. I sensed the question on her lips before her mouth even opened, and I knew exactly what she'd ask. "She told me to stop before I'd even finished. And then she told me off," I admitted somewhat glumly. Lizzie's hand descended on my shoulder like a butterfly.

Surprised at the sudden contact, I pivoted to face her. She was looking at me with so much kindness, smiling softly. "What?" she questioned, confusion thick in her voice. "Why?" She said it as if she couldn't understand why Michelle would do such a thing. That's Lizzie for you, always thinking the best of everyone. I stiffened underneath her hand, realizing what I'd gotten myself into by mentioning Michelle, much less her rebuffing my advances. The advances I hadn't made. Lizzie rubbed my shoulder, tracing circles with her thumb. The motion was soothing, even if I wasn't really broken up over Michelle.

I studiously avoided looking into Lizzie's eyes; I tried to avoid even looking at her at all. Obviously I couldn't tell her the real reason. No, that reason hit a little too close to home. So I would have to lie, only I couldn't think of anything good enough. I exhaled softly, trying my hardest to get those dreams out of my head. Lizzie noticed my silence, but fortunately she also had a series of winding turns to make, so she was unable to make me talk. Her body was tense with anger. "There are no secrets between us, Edwin," she managed tersely.

Yeah, except the X-rated dreams I've been having about you for the past two weeks, I thought sarcastically. I almost turned to look at her, stunned by her cool tone, but I made myself stay still. My mouth remained closed, my eyes focused on the dim world outside the vacuum of the Prince. She tried to hide how she felt about Derek from me, even when it was so pitifully obvious, so, really, who is she to be lecturing me on full disclosure? I could feel her eyes on me, burning a hole into my head, but I didn't dare look at her. "_Tell _me, Edwin," Lizzie ordered, grabbing my arm and jerking to a sudden stop on the deserted street.

My body lurched forward from the inertia, and I narrowly missed slamming into the dashboard. I turned to glower at Lizzie and wound up finally meeting her gaze. It was then that I knew. I could no longer try and hide it. So I sighed and forced myself to look her in the eye. "She saw you kiss me, Liz," I said bluntly, too bluntly. Turns out I couldn't look her in the eye after all. I felt my cheeks get hot and counted to ten in my head before looking back up at her cautiously. Lizzie was frowning a little when I looked up and lost in her own thoughts.

She looked so confused. I think I made that implication pretty obvious, so much so that it made me wince. Yet my Lizzie remained blissfully oblivious. Lucky her, she can't even think of it that way. She can't even imagine it like that whereas I... It's best not to go down that train of thought, now isn't it? "But why should that have anything to do with anything? I'm your sister," Lizzie muttered, utterly puzzled. Her hand lingered on the brake. She turned to me expectantly.

I wanted to shake her, make her see. I was sick and tired of her naivety. However, Lizzie was my sister, and I loved her very much, which is, I'm afraid, the entire problem, so I refrained. I rolled my eyes and just barely resisted grabbing her shoulders. It made me wonder... Am I the only one of us who lives with this speculation? Is this all in my head? It can't be, though, since Michelle, Dan, and Derek all brought it up. Even Jamie's cognizant of it, or he wouldn't be so wary of me... and Teddy's little sister too. Yet with the way Lizzie's acting, you would think she doesn't hear the rumors. You would think she never let me touch her like I did back then or that she didn't rub herself against me like a cat that night or that she didn't moan in contentment when I massaged her back. You would think a lot of things.

Instead, I merely responded with a simple, "I know that." It was a little snappy, my answer, but I was annoyed. How could I not? How could I not when it's ingrained in me, when it's the biggest thing keeping me from taking all those dirty dreams and making them a reality?! It's holding me together, keeping me sane. I gave Lizzie a disbelieving look. "But you kissed me on the _mouth, _Liz." And there it was. The mouth is for lovers, not family members, and especially not family members you weren't related to. It was worse given our similarity in age and the fact that we're both teenagers, hormonal ones at that. It's a little too close to boyfriend-girlfriend stuff for most people's comfort level.

Lizzie scowled and shot me an annoyed look. "I know that," she replied irritably, mimicking my earlier statement. The only difference was that she sounded slightly more irate; there was a harder edge in her tone. "I was there, you dumbass. I remember." Of course I knew that. I hadn't forgotten either. Her hand clutched the emergency brake tighter almost subconsciously; her knuckles turned white. There was a long pause, wherein she exhaled deeply, slumping some in her seat. "I don't understand what the hell you're trying to get at here, but I don't like the sound of it, Edwin," Lizzie argued defensively, crossing an arm over her chest. She looked uncomfortable and wouldn't look at me. I knew I had to drive my point home.

I would've put my hand on her, but I couldn't. I didn't trust myself to do it, and I didn't think it would be right. Not with this topic of conversation. So I settled for a sharp sideways glance instead. "Not everyone thinks like you do, Lizzie. If Derek and Casey kissed, you know it'd be an entirely different story. You know what people would think," I pointed out with as much civility as I could. There was an exigence in my voice, a demand buried just under the words, a kind of desperation.

And the minute Lizzie freezes and stiffens even further, I know she knows _exactly_ what I mean. Because Derek and Casey were always different than us, no matter how appearances may seem. There's something there with them that we don't dare to touch or emulate, something unspoken and not quite right, something taboo... We don't talk about it. No one does. But it's there, nonetheless.

We tiptoe around the subject instead, afraid of getting too close. Lizzie just tries to ignore it, but me, I see the signs. I just don't follow them all the way to the conclusions because that would be too much. Sometimes it's better off not to know. Like I said, there's something sinister about it. You just don't mention it; it's an unspoken rule. Oh, but I tiptoe that line and stop just short.

She abruptly kills the engine and throws the car into park. We're in the middle of yet another winding subdivision, maybe even lost. I sure as hell don't know where we are. Lizzie exhales heavily and stares at me, horror-stricken. Oh, yeah. She knows, all right.

Her breath comes out in white puffs of air, and it looks like disbelief. "She can't possibly think that! I mean, you and me? That's just... I... It's sick and wrong and... and she, of all people, should know better! You had to have mistaken what she said, Ed, 'cause that just can't be it!" Lizzie argued breathlessly, refusing to accept it. Her arguments were to no avail. She couldn't change what Michelle had said. She couldn't take back the words, unverbalize the change, the shift. She couldn't go back. I found myself wishing I hadn't told her. I had a feeling I'd just opened a whole new can of worms.

I smiled grimly and shook my head. "Trust me, Liz. I heard her loud and clear. That's exactly what she said," I declared, easily cutting off all means for argument. Why does she think I don't know these things? I know what I heard. I know what I saw. Lizzie shook her head, still not believing. She doesn't want to, but she does, I think, deep down. I paused for a long while, only opening my mouth to speak when I saw the question on her lips. "She could, and she does," I cut in before she could even ask.

Lizzie sighed in frustration, tugging on her hair. She leaned against the back of her seat and stared at the ceiling. It was like a heavy weight had dropped onto her shoulders, her thin, delicate shoulders that were so much lighter than mine. "Sometimes I really hate how you do that," she muttered, scowling to herself. I shot her a questioning glance. Still staring at the ceiling, she answered the unspoken inquiry mere moments later. "Read my mind." I could only nod. It went both ways, that, even though I was better at it.

There was an awkward, almost painful silence for a moment. And then Lizzie broke it with a short shake of the head, brushing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes. I could only watch as she squared her shoulders and turned the key in the ignition. It had gotten cold inside the car, and the blast of cold air that came with turning the car back on made me shiver. Lizzie stiffly returned the emergency brake to its normal position and shifted gears, easing her foot off the brake and onto the other pedal. She drove briskly but just barely under the speed limit, and we drove to Derek's apartment in a virtual silence.

That is, until we were approximately a block away from his house. Lizzie cleared her throat and broke the awkward silence. Unbelievably, though, the look on her face was even more ill at ease. She glanced in the mirror under the pretense of checking behind us before switching lanes, but I knew she was really doing it to avoid looking at me. She bit down on her lip as she twisted the driving wheel, a sure sign of nerves. Then, finally, she spoke. "There's something you ought to know," she replied vaguely, evasively. Her eyes were focusing on the road, but more specifically flitting from one thing to another as long as it wasn't me. She could, apparently, look at anything _but _me.

I turned to look at her immediately, sensing that what she had to say was definitely important and probably related to my story about Michelle. It was a good thing I'd left out all that other stuff. I wouldn't have wanted to upset Lizzie. Oh, but I wanted her to continue so badly, and I knew she wouldn't if I checked out, so I nodded my head, motioning for her to go on.

She actually glanced at me out of the corner of her eye but only for the briefest of moments before her eyes darted back to the road. Her skin was paler than usual and milky in the moonlight. The darkness became her. Lizzie continued to nibble on her bottom lip, and I found that I had to fight to keep my thoughts from wandering into forbidden areas. Now is not the time, I told myself strictly. "I probably should've told you back when it happened, and I was going to, I swear, but... Some things got in the way, and then it just would've been weird. And then I just didn't want to dredge up the past because I thought that it would ruin everything... but I think that now you deserve to know," Lizzie rambled, turning dramatically into the parking lot behind Derek's building.

The Prince's speed slowed to a crawl as her eyes sought out a parking space (although the car isn't that fast to begin with). I eyed her curiously, wondering just what she was about to reveal. Was it a big secret, like her being in love with Derek, the kind of secret that changed lives? Or was it something dumb, something obvious, something I could've possibly guessed? The way Lizzie was fidgeting indicated the former. She tapped her nails on the wheel, slowly pulling into a parking spot. She stopped smoothly and threw the car into park once again. Thankfully, she kept the heat on.

She didn't face me at first, but she didn't wait any longer to speak. "You remember when I broke up with Jamie, don't you?" She started out asking. I knew the question was rhetorical. Of course I'd remembered. It had been a big to-do around the house. A lot of things had led up to that point. Casey, Nora, Sally, and Emily were consulted. Pro/con lists were made. Friends were called over to discuss the issue. It was all I heard for weeks, and I'd secretly relished it. _What _they were considering, not **that **they were considering. There is a very important difference. Eventually, though, something had snapped, and Lizzie had made the decision on her own one day. She'd just ripped off the band-aid and done it without a thought. It had seemed so random at the time.

I nodded anyway, though, knowing she wouldn't see or pay attention. Lizzie licked her lips, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "The straw that broke the camel's back... I never told anyone this before, but if anyone deserves to know... it was you," Lizzie mumbled anxiously. I barely understood her. Her words were jumbled and muffled, but I suddenly had an idea where she was going with this. She sucked in a breath. I don't blame her. "We were just talking normally, and somehow I guess I brought you up in the conversation. Obviously I didn't mean anything by it, not on purpose anyway, but Jamie thought I did. He was always so jealous, reading into things that weren't really there... And we got on the subject of you, and Jamie voiced all these suspicions about you that came completely out of nowhere, and I was so angry I couldn't see straight-"

Liz paused to catch her breath. All of what she'd just said had come out of her very fast, almost as if it had all tumbled out. She studiously avoided my eyes and pressed on a few moments later, still slightly out-of-breath. "And he was saying all this crap about you, awful things, terrible things... And I just couldn't let him get away with it, you know? Every word he said against you made me even more repulsed by him and even more determined to break it off with him, and finally with this one crack he just went _way _too far, and I slugged him. He was being an ass, and he had _no _right to say things like that about you; he deserved it," Lizzie continued. I was amazed at how unapologetic her tone was. She generally didn't like hurting people and usually felt guilty about it, even if it was self-defense or defending a family member.

Instead of guilt, she spoke with the firm conviction of one who did what she had to do. Then she finally looked at me, albeit a bit shyly, and she said what I should've expected but didn't. All the signs were pointing to it, but I couldn't accept the results. "We broke up because of _you_, Edwin," she admitted after a long pause, after licking her lips and biting down hard and playing with her hands. There it was, out on the table. Lizzie exhaled and leaned back in her seat, still looking at me, still jumpy and awkward in her skin. It was as if she'd dropped a bomb on me, and she had. Everything had been kind of thrown upside down and blown apart, and I was suddenly very confused. There was nothing I could say for a long while.

For her part, she remained silent then too. I guess she was worried about how I would react. I wasn't mad or anything, though. I just wondered why she hadn't told me. I could understand wanting to keep that from me, I guess, since it was so like the Michelle thing only not, but knowing I was the reason for her break-up? That was a whole different isotope. I couldn't help but wonder whether she'd meant to say it like that... How true, exactly, was that statement? She said she broke up with him because of me, not because of what he'd said about me, after all, and that could mean... But I didn't dare ask, even if I got this funny feeling in my stomach at the mere thought of it. It felt a little like I was going to throw up, but more like I'd been punched in the guts and had all the wind knocked out of me... like I was in space and my stomach had flipped over, weightless, and my feet weren't on the ground anymore.

I coughed, feeling a little sick. My throat was dry, and my lips were chapped. I felt a twinge when I spoke, but I talked anyway. "Why didn't you tell me?" I pondered softly. A combination of shame and embarrassment played across Lizzie's face, and she reverted to looking down at her shoes.

Lizzie sighed, closing her eyes and sinking deeper into her seat. "I wanted to; I did. I was going to do it too, but then you were distant, and you'd just started dating Michelle... You were half in love with her already, and it was **so**obvious. Of course I couldn't tell you. I didn't want to ruin your happiness by rehashing the past. What was the use?" Lizzie explained methodically. I had a feeling there was a great deal of cowardice mixed in there. Sure, I was crushing on Michelle then, and we had just started going out a month or so before they broke up, but I wasn't head-over-heels or anything. Hell, I didn't... Oh my God. Did Lizzie just hint what I think she hinted?

My jaw dropped in sheer shock. I forced myself to pick my jaw up off the ground, though, since I didn't know that was exactly what she'd hinted. I paused to clear my head and catch my breath. "What are you saying, Lizzie?" I questioned cautiously, trying her. There was a moment of silence that seemed to last forever. I couldn't breathe, waiting on pins and needles for her answer.

A blush the color of a ripe rose spread across her cheeks, coloring her embarrassed. So I was right, I realized immediately. Huh. It was a funny feeling. I felt kind of dizzy, almost lopsided. It was like my world had turned upside-down as a result of a single, violent earthquake. Lizzie made herself look at me, but her discomfort was written plainly all over her face. "What I'm saying, Edwin, is that..." She paused, at a momentary loss for words. It was a crucial junction, too. I was dying to know what she had to say next. The pause stretched on until it verged on becoming even more awkward, and Lizzie's face reddened further. It became harder and harder for her to look at me until finally she just snapped.

"Okay, fine, Ed, make me say it! I wanted to be with _you, _okay?!" Lizzie shouted, color rising in her cheeks. Her voice was needlessly loud. I understood her just fine. "I... liked you... and... I realized I'd made a huge mistake, and that I was really running from my feelings, so I dumped him _for _you. And I was such a moron about it because I thought all I'd have to do would be apologize, and we could get back to the way things were... but you had a girlfriend, and that ruined everything. I wanted you to be happy, so I just... tried to forget about it, and eventually I did," Lizzie confessed, stunning me into muteness.

"Wait... You l-l-liked me back then?" I stammered, stunned beyond all belief that the girl of my dreams had once had a thing for me. My dreams back then, at least. To tell you the truth, I was still floored by her little revelation. Her face was cherry red, but the flush looked good on her.

Lizzie nodded and looked a little less embarrassed. Perhaps she was amused at my nervousness. Either way, she smiled at me almost coyly. If I didn't know her better, I'd have said she was flirting with me. Lizzie liked me. I still can't believe it. If she'd only said something...

Then what? I would be with Lizzie or something? More like we would've gotten together and had an ugly break-up. Our relationship would've never been the same; there's no way we would've been this close. I might've even fal... but that's a dumb question. There's no acceptable answer to it. She's right. It's no use wondering about what might've been... and yet I do. Somehow it's different for me knowing she felt the same. She continued to talk, but it barely registered. "Of course I did! I was crazy about you, Ed. You're the only guy I ever let get to second base."

I bit down hard on my lip to keep from pointing out that she'd let me steal third too, sensing that it would've been stepping over that careful line we kept to too much. I didn't need to remind her of that. I'd pretty much forgotten those few days too, willfully erased them and repressed them. I couldn't remember those moments and still think of her like a sister, so they had to go. At first they made me miserable, walking around with all those fleeting memories of things that could never happen ever again... but after a while I got over it and forgot all about it.

Her voice, though, took me back to that day, and I stared off into space, mentally recounting it. It was almost as if I was back there again. I remembered it well. The sun was hot on my skin, which was sticky with sweat. We'd been having a heat wave that summer, so it was especially hot. Being friends with Lizzie meant we were outside a lot, playing soccer, climbing trees, and jumping the fence to go swimming in the Davis' pool. They went on vacation for well over a month that year, so we landed the fortunate job of housesitting. That day I was sitting on the tire swing in the back yard, practically melting into it, watching Lizzie kick the soccer ball around.

My eyelids were droopy; the air was hot and humid, and there wasn't a stiff breeze to be had. I was tired of watching Lizzie kick the damn ball, so I carefully extricated myself from the tire swing and walked over to her. Before she could protest, I batted the soccer ball aside, sending it soaring through the air. Then I placed my hands on either side of her face and kissed her hard. Her lips were soft, and, oh, did they taste good. She was wearing that strawberry lip-gloss that drove me crazy. Furthermore, she was well aware of its affect on me. I couldn't get enough. I crashed my lips against hers still harder. They yielded under my touch so easily, practically melting away, that my tongue was down her throat before I even noticed anything.

Lizzie twined her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. She buried her hands in my messy hair, holding fast to the ends. She pressed the whole length of her against me, knowing full well what it was doing to me. Liz also knew full well that I couldn't handle that. I further deepened the kiss moments later, if that was possible. Lizzie let out a few surprised moans and gasped when my lips moved along her jawline, dropping down to find the delicate flesh of her neck.

My hands skimmed her sides, coming to rest lightly on her hips. She pressed a stream of kisses along my cheek, stopping at the corner of my mouth. I groaned loudly. Lizzie grabbed my face, pulling my head away from her neck, bringing my lips back to hers. My hands slipped up underneath her tank-top, sliding up her back. Her skin was soft beneath my fingers. She smelled faintly of chlorine and freshly-cut grass. Her skin was moist but not quite as sticky as mine. My fingers traveled further upward, tracing her vertebrae, and stopped suddenly when I realized that she wasn't wearing a bra. My eyes widened. How hadn't I noticed that when she was bouncing up and down with that soccer ball?

I slowly and smoothly moved my hands from her upper back around to her ribcage. I brought my thumbs a few centimeters below her breasts and traced circles on the skin there with my fingers. Lizzie gasped a little and collapsed against me. Her lips rested on the sensitive junction where jaw meets neck. The sudden motion resulted in my thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts. Lizzie stiffened but didn't pull away. I almost lost it. A moment later Lizzie let out a breathy sigh.

My hands dropped abruptly off her sides, extricating themselves from the clingy cotton. Lizzie's eyes opened, and she pouted at me, frowning a little. She didn't understand why I'd suddenly stopped. She opened her mouth as if to ask a question, but I grabbed her hand and damn near dragged her inside. I couldn't do what I wanted outside where everyone could see... Oh, I wanted to taste her so badly.

I stopped just shy of the couch, pressing my lips against hers softly at first, then harder. She invaded my senses, became everything to me. I slipped my hands back up under her shirt, bringing my hands around to her chest. My fingers deliberately grazed her breast, and her lips went slack. She pulled back a little to look at me, surprise written in her eyes. I held my breath, waiting. Lizzie did nothing, just stared at me like she too was waiting. I sighed softly, taking that as a sign that she didn't object to what I was doing. I placed one hand on her breast at first, hesitantly, absorbing her warmth.

I moved my thumb around the edge repeatedly, over and down and around the swell of it. Liz exhaled breathily. Her eyes fluttered closed prettily. A moment later, I allowed myself to experiment by squeezing. She started a little but didn't look at all displeased, so I did the same with my other hand, bringing her flush against me again. Her skin was so smooth and slippery under my hands. She was perfection. It was like we were meant for this. My hands were just the right size to cup her breasts, which felt like heaven. I flicked a nipple with one hand and pinched the other one. Lizzie moaned sweetly and sunk her lips to my neck, promptly latching on to me. I sighed contentedly and continued my exploration, trailing my fingers up and down her sides and back over her breasts again.

I ran my fingers along the curves, tracing shapes on her skin. My hands kneaded the supple flesh, and Lizzie let out a variety of erotic sighs and moans. I pushed her shirt up a little higher as my hands slipped lower. She put her hands in the air and let me rip the shirt off. I remember how it looked crumpled carelessly in a pool on the floor, a heap of green fabric. It was wrinkled for days afterwards. I pulled back a little to have a proper look at her. Lizzie's breaths were erratic; they made her chest heave pleasantly. "Wow."

She flushed under my stare and tried to cover up, at first. I heard her sharp intake of air and knew what it meant. She was nervous, scared, holding her breath even. "Please don't look at me like that, Ed," she whispered in a ghost of a voice, looking sorry but mostly uncomfortable. But I was having none of that, of course. I grabbed her arms and uncrossed them almost immediately, leaning back forward again. I had to prove to her that I wasn't repulsed by her, by this. That would be insane, feeling like that. She couldn't look at me, so I let my body do the talking.

I pressed butterfly kisses down her neck, over her veins. She squirmed and giggled a little because the light touch tickled. I could feel her heart beating there beneath my lips. I peppered her collarbone with still more of them, the wet, open-mouthed kind that made her breathing become heavier. Still more I planted softly on her breasts, trailing my tongue down the valley between them. Lizzie shuddered, slithering downwards, and sunk into the couch. She buried her fingers in my hair and let out a long sigh. My lips continued their trail downwards, over her abdomen, her belly button, all the way down to the waistband of her shorts.

When I kissed her there she tensed and moved away, almost as if she'd been jolted.

She didn't stop me, though. I pressed short kisses all along her waistline, easing her into it. She giggled lightly. Then, slowly, I unbuttoned her shorts. My finger was on the zipper when I heard a noise.

It wasn't Lizzie.

What actually stopped me was the sound of keys in the front door. Whoever it was (Derek, I think) was having some trouble with the lock, which bought us a few moments. Lizzie pushed me off of her. I half-jumped off too, bounding over to grab her shirt off the floor. I promptly threw at her, and Lizzie scrambled to pull the thing over her head. Meanwhile, I dashed upstairs to take a cold shower. If I hadn't, what we'd been doing would've been all too obvious.

I took a last glimpse, though. Her shirt was on but wrinkled severely and clingier than I remembered. Her arms were crossed over her chest protectively in an attempt to hide her visible nipples. She hurriedly combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to straighten it and swiped the smeared lip-gloss off her face with the back of her hand. You know, to make it all look less obvious. The top button of her jean shorts was still undone, however. The TV wasn't on.

And then the door opened, someone entered, and I sped into the bathroom. I remember how good that memory was. It was more than enough to keep me satisfied for a while. I thought about it endlessly some days, especially when I missed her. I missed her a lot right up until Michelle, and even then there was still a pang up until we were three months into the relationship. Lizzie suddenly noticed I was distracted; she was scowling at me. "Thinking about it, are we?" she muttered, sounding none-too-pleased. She was too embarrassed to tease me as she would've done normally. And regretting how it ended too. Damn Derek.

I forced a smile on my face. It was surprisingly easy to do. Since it was necessarily to conceal the fact that she was right from her, I wisely changed the subject. "So you wanted to be with me, eh?" I asked playfully, bumping shoulders with her. I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively to look as ridiculous as possible so that Lizzie wouldn't take it seriously. Her face still looked hot, and she didn't look at me at all. She looked irritated, though, probably at my attitude. I realized a bit too late that I sounded a bit conceited, and maybe I had taken her words to heart more than I'd known or anticipated.

Liz shrugged diffidently, squaring her shoulders. I saw a trace of her older sister's stubborn pride in her. Apparently she didn't like my mock-cockiness. Strange, isn't it, especially since she loves Derek, who prides himself on, well... being himself? The lull in conversation seemed to stretch on for a long while until she broke it by speaking. "Yeah, _so?_" she cut in abruptly. "That was then, this is now." Her tone was so harsh that it was almost brutal. Still, I couldn't help but nod. I knew exactly what she meant, and I even agreed.

Nevertheless, a few details bothered me: one being that history often repeats itself, and the other being that those feelings scared me. Just remembering them made me feel funny inside, not good, but guilty and kind of sick to my stomach. Yet I'm having those lascivious thoughts about her, and the harder I try and make them go away, the more determined they are to stay. I held my hands up, surrendering. "Hey! You were the one who brought it up!" I pointed out wisely.

She covered her face, still looking embarrassed. She did, however, look slightly less completely mortified. Lizzie took a deep breath and shot me a brief glance. "So I thought you were hot back then. Big deal," Lizzie mumbled with a touch of irritation. I smirked, feeling disturbingly like my brother. Lizzie looked over and groaned upon seeing the look on my face. "Oh, stop being so smug!" Lizzie exclaimed somewhat irately. Her cheeks were still flushed.

Funny. I wasn't aware I was being smug at all. Lizzie glowered at me as if she'd heard my thoughts. "That was like... four years ago. A lot has changed since then, Ed," came her voice, cold and biting. She was right. I couldn't argue with her about that. Four years ago I felt the same. You would think she'd know that and feel less embarrassed about it. After all, she's the one making a big deal out of it. Then again, what's there to be embarrassed about if she doesn't feel that way anymore, which she certainly doesn't? Unless... Unless she's thinking about the "what-ifs"... What could've happened if... How far it would've gone. How far she would've let me go.

Like you being in love with my brother, I thought bitterly. Four years ago, Derek was just an annoying brother type. Somehow we'd gradually switched roles... for Lizzie, at least. It was a strange feeling. "So you can drop the smirk, asshole." I hadn't put my hands down, so I was still holding them up in that surrendering position. I shot her a look, surprised at her words and the apparent venom behind them. She actually sounded angry with me. She blew the hair out of her face and crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, it's not like it means anything... The Bedroom Strangler was good-looking too," she huffed.

I stiffened, dropping my hands, unable to believe that she had just compared me to a serial killer. She had crossed a line. "Don't you think that's going a little too far, Lizzie?" I said in a warning tone. Plus, it wasn't exactly like I'd stopped being attractive. She didn't even have time to be embarrassed because I was off and talking again. "How does that work, anyway? Am I suddenly not attractive now?" I mused teasingly in a voice I knew she would hate. True to my predictions, Lizzie shoved me.

Her face, which was just starting to return to a normal shade, darkened. "We've been over this before, Edwin," Lizzie said a bit impatiently. She shot me a look that said she knew full well I was just fishing for compliments, and I realized with a sickening sensation what exactly she meant. As if she'd planned it that way, her eyes swept down my body appreciatively. Her lips curved into a smile at the remembrance (or so I assumed, as I was wearing a ratty gray t-shirt with jeans under a black long-sleeved sweater and a fleece-lined jacket, hardly revealing clothing). I felt my own cheeks burn, and my whole body flooded with embarrassment. "Of course you're attractive. Just in a stepbrothery kind of way," Liz clarified.

I would've snickered, but anger pulsed in my veins. Oh, I could sense the hidden comparison to Derek, and it made me ill. Maybe I was offended at the way she said it, like I was attractive but not someone she could be attracted to. "Just like Derek, then, am I?" I snapped bitingly, making her feel my displeasure. The mocking implication was obvious. Lizzie flinched as if stricken. She was unable to look at me, exactly as I'd intended. Comparing Derek and me is a dangerous thing in your shoes, Lizzie.

"Obviously not, or I'd be in love with you!" Lizzie bellowed, turning to blast me. The words lost much of their impact, and they had little effect on me. I knew that Lizzie wasn't in love with me. The thing that really pissed me off was how she substituted one for the other in her mind. In a lot of respects, I was just as good as Derek, and, well, it was more than a little disconcerting. Knowing she'd be annoyed with me, I said nothing to her. Lizzie stewed in her own rage, pouting and muttering to herself. "God, you're being such an asshole about this. Yes, I love Derek. Big deal. Get over it," Lizzie rejoined, seething. She ran her fingers through her hair, silently shaking her head to herself. "I never should've told you."

You didn't have to, Liz. It was so obvious a bat could see it! I grabbed Lizzie's shoulders, pulling her towards me. I'm just being realistic. I love Lizzie, and I love my brother; they're both family to me. The only problem with that is that they'd be horrible for each other. She's not his type at all, and he's never shown her any extra-brotherly attention. I've made how I feel about it as clear as I can. I do not now nor will I ever approve of such a relationship. It would be doomed to end in disaster, and Lizzie would wind up brokenhearted. I don't want that for her.

"It's never going to happen!" I shouted, shaking her to prove my point. Lizzie was already trembling, but this made her snap her eyes shut. She winced all over as if she was in intense pain, as if I was the one who'd hurt her. That only made me even more enraged. I was so full of wrath that I felt sick to my stomach, nauseous with the magnitude. The tears started pouring down her face like a thunderstorm, and then I couldn't look anymore. I turned my head away and tried to calm my breathing.

My pulse climbed dangerously, and I pulled away, dropping her arms like I would titrate something (a drop at a time), as if I was on fire. I gave her one last, lingering dark glare before sliding away and flinging the car door open. I stalked across the parking lot, storming over to the front door. Still stiff with anger, so pissed off that I wasn't thinking straight, I jammed my finger into Derek's button, pressing the button and waiting for him to answer. I kept pressing the damn thing, waiting impatiently for my answer. I leaned in to make a reply. "DEREK MICHAEL VENTURI, GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF BED! I'M NOT FREEZING MY ASS OFF OUT HERE SO YOU CAN SCREW SOME BIMBO! I DON'T CARE WHO SHE IS, BUT YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE HER LEAVE! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE, ASSHOLE!" I shouted into the receiver.

As I'd expected, Derek came to the intercom before I could start shouting again. His voice was heavy with sleep. Lucky bastard, I thought bitterly. "You know, you could've just called like a normal person... So what can I do you for, bro?" Derek drawled sleepily. Even sleepy, he still managed to sound engaging and amusing. I hated Derek in that instant, which made me even more determined to get inside. I shivered. It really was freezing outside.

I found myself missing the warmth of the car in spite of myself. "I need a place to crash, Derek. Lizzie's with me. She's out in the car. I'll go get her and-" I sounded pleading and hopeful like I'd forgotten my envy and rage, but I hadn't. I'd just conveniently pushed it aside. It was really pathetic, and I'm embarrassed I sounded like that now.

Derek, of course, had to interrupt me. "Normally I'd ask you why you need shelter, but Dad's been calling me nonstop, obsessively asking if I know where you are for the past three hours. So I'm sorry, but I don't want to talk to you right now. You can't sleep here. Dad always gets pissed when you do, and I'm sick of it. Just go home, Edwin. Night," Derek remarked wearily. There was, however, a bit of a sour edge in his voice. A moment later, Derek clicked off, and, I suppose, somehow managed to mute me. I think he did have a girl up there. All the shouting and swearing I did achieved nothing.

Some brother he is, I thought angrily. Never there for you when you need him. Lizzie ought to know that. Obviously she's not going to be pleased, and I just knew that she would find a way to blame it on me, even though her perfect Derek's the asshole here! Once I'd managed to exorcise most of my rage, I trotted stiffly back to the car, simultaneously preparing to tell Lizzie what Derek had said. She rolled down the window before I could get in the car, looking at me expectantly.

Wisely, I decided to lie so she wouldn't blame me. I shrugged, scowling. "Derek had company. He wasn't willing to accommodate two more," I explained shortly, only half-lying. I wondered briefly why he decided to punish Lizzie too. What had she done wrong? Lizzie's face fell, and she looked depressed all over again. However, she was no longer angry with me. I noticed the trails of tears still lingered on her cheeks, and her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. Her face was pale.

She sighed, turning to face the steering wheel. "So, what are we going to do now? We can't go home now..." Lizzie exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Casey's so far away, and I don't feel like driving anymore..." Lizzie rolled up the window and leaned her head on the driver's wheel. I took this as my opportunity to reenter the car. I shut the door quietly behind me and leaned over to put an arm around Lizzie's shoulders. I mulled the two options over myself. It really wasn't worth it, driving all the way over to Casey's. I could do it easily, but it was so far away like Lizzie said, and I wanted to sleep.

After debating the few possibilities for a moment, I pulled Lizzie closer so that I could whisper in her ear. "We stay here, I guess. It's just as good as anywhere else..." I murmured decisively. Lizzie turned her body to face me, confusion written all over her face. Then, after a moment of thought, she started to frown in distaste. I sought to explain, "It's not as bad as all that, Lizard. We can lie down in the backseat... or I can recline this one, and you can come over here... and sleep on top of me." At Lizzie's skeptical glance, which intimated that she thought I was being fresh with her, I clarified further. "There's nothing better than shared body heat for warmth, Lizzie."

She conceded this point with a sleepy nod. I could tell she was pretty exhausted, more than I was. I bit down on my lip to keep from pointing out that the survival guides had always said to get naked for warmth and then pile the blankets and clothes on top of ourselves. It's not like we were in the snow, after all. "We've got that blanket and our jackets," I pointed out wisely, reaching back behind me to get the blanket and her jacket.

Lizzie took a breath and contemplated all this for a moment before assenting. "Okay. Recline the seat, Ed." She turned the heat off unhappily, not wanting to waste gas or needlessly pollute the environment. I was actually surprised she hadn't turned it off earlier. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, throwing them in the area below the CD player and radio that held spare change among other things. I took off my coat somewhat awkwardly, reclining the chair as far back as it would go. I also made sure that I had plenty of legroom, knowing that Lizzie would want some too. I placed the blankets and coats on the dash before kicking off my shoes and lying down.

My sister pressed a button twice, locking the car for security. Then Lizzie glanced at me, the traces of a faint smile on her lips. She removed her heavy boots moments later before climbing over the console between us. Lizzie lost her balance, however, and she wound up landing sprawled ungracefully across my lap. The both of us started laughing at that. "Ah, the return of Klutzilla Two," I teased, wrapping my arms loosely around her waist. Lizzie snorted and made a face at me, shoving me lightly. I pretended I was wounded, though I was, in reality, quite amused.

She shook her head and adjusted herself in my arms so that she was curled up around me. Her head rested against my chest. Her legs tangled with mine, and her pelvis was dangerously close to resting directly on top of mine. Lizzie pushed herself up, grabbing the coats. She bent over backwards, it seemed, to place mine over our feet and legs. I swallowed, hoping she didn't feel it. I felt a little jolt, remembering that Lizzie also did yoga and was ridiculously flexible like her sister (this, I remembered, had also tormented Derek). Lizzie reached for her jacket moments later. It was longer than mine, so she draped it over our upper halves, instructing me wordlessly to hold on to it while she grabbed the blanket.

The blanket was kept in the car in case someone got stranded in a snowstorm, and it had never seen much use. You can bet that we were both more than glad for its existence at that very moment. Lizzie twisted around and unfolded it, shaking it out, straightening it out before covering us with it. The blanket was large, soft, and comfortable. It wasn't too thick or too heavy, but it wasn't light either. The blanket even covered both of our heads, but that didn't matter much for me, as Lizzie shoved a tuque on my head anyway. After all this was done, Lizzie pulled up the blanket and her coat and settled more comfortably into my side. I sighed blissfully, feeling warm.

The position was surprisingly more comfortable than I expected. I couldn't help but suck in a breath as I felt Lizzie wrap her little hands around my waist. It felt so right, so perfect, and I was suddenly exhausted. My eyes were fluttering shut when Lizzie surprised me by asking me a question. "Is this how it is when you have sex with someone? You know, when you share a bed with her... is it like this?" Lizzie asked in a wheedling voice. She sounded so weak and so little and weary. I realized suddenly what I'd always known somewhere deep down: that my stepsister was a virgin. It was a provocative thought.

My eyes didn't shoot open, but they stayed open and unblinking. I couldn't believe she'd even asked the question, and I wondered if she'd intended for there to be those implications... I responded by wrapping my arms around her just a little bit tighter. "There are usually a lot less clothes," I muttered somewhat dryly. Lizzie giggled softly, and I felt the vibrations of her laugh in my stomach. It was nice to hear her laugh. I paused, wondering how to explain it to her. I settled for the truth, as ugly as it was. "Not at all," I admitted reluctantly.

Lizzie seemed to sit up a little to look at me, as ridiculous as that sounds. I felt her muscles tighten. "Well, then how is it different?" she asked softly, sounding bewildered. She's just like a child, I thought, so unnecessarily curious.

I exhaled raggedly. "For one thing, this is _nice _and warm. And platonic... I don't usually let them sleep over," I said huskier than I'd intended. I let my eyelids close, not wanting to discuss it much further. Lizzie resumed her previous position. I felt her body turn slack again, and I sighed, burying my head in her hair. "Besides, I like you. I love you, Liz," I mumbled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My eyelids felt heavy. I dully remembered the way I'd acted earlier and felt ashamed for it. "I'm sorry."

Lizzie smiled, leaning up to look at me again. "Me too," she whispered, as if it were some kind of secret. She burrowed further into my chest. "You don't like the girls you sleep with?" she inquired haltingly. Oh, I did, in a fashion but not much. It was more desire than respect or fondness, really. Afterwards, most of them repulsed me, so I made them go away. Truthfully, I rarely even took one of them back home. Falling asleep with one of them was often a result of my sleep deprivation and laziness as opposed to an actual desire to be there.

"Not really," I confessed dreamily, "Not like I love you." In truth, I cared about Lizzie too much to do something stupid like have sex with her. It's why I hadn't, even if I was sorely tempted to do so. Lizzie started to say something, but I interrupted somewhat drunkenly. I was so exhausted I was slurring my words a little. "None of them holds a candle to you, sis." It was true, too. Lizzie's my favorite person in the whole world, and she's so... I don't know how to explain it. She's indescribable, but she's everything. She's the most beautiful, lovely, intelligent, witty, considerate, and compassionate person I know. She's the best person I know. No other woman can ever match up.

No man is good enough for her either, which is why Derek doesn't deserve her. Lizzie sighs, and I can feel her breath on my chest. I think she's crying a little. Of course, I'm so out of it I'm only dimly aware of all of these things, let alone their meaning. "I'm glad it was you, Edwin," Lizzie tells me quietly, kissing my sweater. It tickles just a little, and I don't know what she means, but I like the sound of it. She could mean the little affair before or she could mean being stuck here in the car with me. I'll never know. "I love you too," she murmurs sincerely, snuggling still closer to me. Her hands brush against the bare skin of my lower back. Then we exchange sleepy "good-nights" and fall asleep like that, warm and contented in each other's arms.

Loren ;*

Hope you enjoyed, and please do review. I very much appreciate it!

Next chapter we get to see Edwin and Derek... not exactly getting along... and a very interesting hockey match. I'd say more, but really, I'd give it all away. Anyway, hopefully all of the elements will start to come together and cohere... because this really is a very complicated story.

Let's see... Jamie likes Lizzie but asks Edwin to help him get her back, so Edwin's writing love notes to her and secretly lusting after her and he basically feels like a sick freak. Michelle, Edwin's ex, is bitter and jealous of Lizzie, despite Edwin's assurances about their lack of a romantic relationship. Oh, and Tanya, Lizzie's arch-rival, is obsessed with Edwin, who can't run fast enough. Lizzie, meanwhile, is hopelessly in love with Derek and has elicited Edwin's help to land him, against both of their better judgment, whereas Derek thinks Edwin's got a thing for Lizzie and is trying to hook the two of them up. Derek just sees Lizzie as a sister, but his relationship with the other stepsister has a certain unspoken element to it that makes everyone uncomfortable... so no one acknowledges it... but Casey never visits and is getting married to Noel, who asked Derek to help him buy the ring. What a tangled web we weave indeed!


	8. Potential Energy

Okay, so this chapter and the next one are kind of way longer than they're supposed to be. I blame the hockey. This chapter's pretty much insane. Edwin's kind of starting to go a little crazy here. And, hmm, it's pretty interesting, if I do say so myself. Derek pops up and is his charming self, of course.

And, um, I know people are probably going to be saying things about Lizzie... but remember that she doesn't know a lot about guys. So she might have some idea of what she's doing, but she really has no idea. Basically, she knows she has an affect, but she doesn't quite understand the extent of her actions. If that makes any sense. It's kind of like... she gets how the parts work, but she doesn't get what's going on in their heads. ;) And, wow, that sounds dirty. Lizzie's under a fair amount of pressure on her own. She's a bit of an experimenter. And poor Ed's just trying to keep his head, more or less.

I feel bad because I actually edited this chapter to torment him more. I also really like this chapter. Not so much the first part, but the middle-end. What can I say? I'm a sucker for UST. I love the build-up. Yes, I'm really evil, aren't I?

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**Potential Energy:** The energy stored within a body, so named for its ability to be transformed into other forms of energy.

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I woke slowly, warmer than I had any right to be, with something soft tickling my nose. It smelled good in a very familiar sort of way. A smile spread slowly across my face as I brought my hand up to my nose, attempting to brush whatever it was away. I realized suddenly that it was hair—a girl's hair at that. I drew back a little, trying to straighten up, pulling my head off of hers. I blinked to get the light out of my eyes, fighting off the feeling of disorientation. I inhaled distractedly. Her hair smelled nice. I smiled sleepily and tightened my grip, pulling her closer. My eyes closed.

I felt like I could stay in that moment forever. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. I was well on my way to it when the girl in my arms shifted, moving closer to me. She moved her leg up a little, unintentionally rubbing against me. Then she let out a soft moan, and suddenly I wasn't tired anymore. It registered a couple moments later that her hands were on my back and chest, hot and a little sweaty. And I wanted her.

So I opened my eyes cautiously, trying to discern whether or not she was awake yet. Her body was still except for the chest that moved with mine. We inhaled and exhaled together. Her hair obscured her face, but I assumed she was still asleep. Even though I knew this, I couldn't help myself. God, I wanted to taste her. It was wrong, I knew, but I couldn't stop myself from brushing her hair away from her face, bringing her as close to me as I could. I tilted her chin up hesitantly, timidly almost, like I thought she would break. I didn't want her to wake.

What was the harm in one little kiss, a little brush of the lips she'll never feel… even if I do want more? I should've known better. Of course, I wasn't thinking of any of that then. My lust-addled mind had taken over, and I was a prisoner to my own desires. Sanity was discarded in favor of contact. Her bangs fell in her eyes, but I was too lazy to push them back this time. I leaned down slowly, so slowly it was like I was moving underwater. Oh, I was going to savor the moment, every brief second of it.

But then, just as I got close enough to my target to almost touch her, her eyelids fluttered open. "Derek?" she murmured sleepily, pushing her hair out of her eyes in a single sweeping motion. Her voice almost did me in. It was husky, half a moan, really. If it wasn't for the fact that she had called out my brother's name, I might've lost control over my bodily functions. When she swept her hair out of her eyes, she revealed her face to me, and the shock of that was almost enough to completely snap me out of it. LIZZIE! My sister… I wanted to… I think I'm going to be sick. I jerked back as quickly as I could, lest she realize what I was really trying to do. Liz blinked, letting out a long yawn.

Her lithe muscles tensed, ready to stretch. She was so close I could feel everything, and the feel of those taut muscles pressed up against me was almost too much. Her eyes narrowed a bit, looking me over quizzically. I must've had a guilty look on my face because Lizzie saw right through me. "What are you doing, Ed?" she asked lazily. Her voice belied the suspicion behind the query. She cracked her neck, a brief look of discomfort flitting across her face. It was in that moment that I realized something completely horrifying.

Something so completely and utterly wrong that I wished I could just slip back into obliviousness. I wished immediately that this whole morning could be redone the right way, not the sick and disgusting way I'd started things out. I forced a quick smile and blurted the first thing that came to mind, trying hard to disguise my discomfort. "Trying to wake you up." It was a bit lame, but I supposed it would suffice. At least I didn't stammer, right? If I was anything less than on the top of my game, Lizzie would ferret it out of me. She couldn't find out what was bothering me, not when the problem was her. Sometimes I hate the fact that she knows me so well.

Lizzie smirked. "Oh, and since when am I Sleeping Beauty, Edwin Venturi?" she retorted coolly, playfully knocking her shoulder into mine. In reality, this gesture was hard to accomplish, as we were pressed tightly together like sardines. I felt myself turn a little flushed against my will. Oh, crap. Does that mean she knows I wanted to kiss her… that I was going to kiss her? To my amazement, she let out a laugh, fortunately amused. "You might as well admit it, Eddie… I know you were having a sex dream. So, come on… Out with it already! Which lady was the star of your dreams this night? Someone famous, perhaps? Maybe one of my friends? Leslie from my hockey team? 'Cause I'm sorry, but you don't really stand a chance there… She likes girls," Liz quipped jestingly, poking me in the side. Her tone was teasing, her eyes laughing at me.

As for me, well, I scoffed to myself. Not dreams, Liz, more like realities… and you're never going to find out. Nevertheless, I filed away that juicy little tidbit about her lesbian friend. Leslie was already super-hot, after all. I have no problem with her wanting to make out with other chicks, especially if I get to watch. "I wasn't having a sex dream." I didn't really say it defensively or anything. It was just a statement of fact. At Lizzie's incredulous look, I repeated myself again, wondering when we'd been able to talk so cavalierly about sex. It was still an uncomfortable subject to me, and I imagined Lizzie couldn't be any more comfortable with it, since she's a virgin.

Then Lizzie gave me a sly look. "Yeah right, Venturi." Her smirk widened as she leaned over me. Mere moments later, she did something entirely unexpected. The hand that rested on my stomach slid down over my abdomen. Her index finger traced the waistline of my boxers teasingly. My breath hitched. Damn it. I really need to get laid. In fact, I need to go to the first party there is and screw the first girl I see that's remotely attractive. Preferably one that has nothing in common whatsoever with Lizzie. Her fingers moved down further, briefly brushing uncomfortably over the front of my boxers.

"What the hell are you doing, Lizzie?" I gasped, too stunned to be really angry with her. Molesting me, I suppose, but it's only really molestation if I don't want it… Oh, damn. I am not going down that slippery road again. Lizzie just smirked at me, leaning forward on her knees, which tightened around my thighs. Her hands made their way up just as quickly, creeping up my body like spiders would. I gulped uncomfortably. Her hair fell in a curtain around our faces, blocking out the world. Her hand retraced the path it had made downwards. This time her fingers didn't just brush against the front of me; her hand stayed deliberately where it was. I squirmed, trying to get away from her, but it was impossible. I opened my mouth to speak, even trying to push her off of me, but Lizzie just put a finger to my lips.

"Don't speak," she murmured, leaning in closer towards me so that our noses brushed. I was effectively rendered speechless for good a moment later when she grabbed me. It took me completely by surprise, and I hastily sucked in a breath at the strange sensation. Her hand was so close to being on my bare skin, the most sensitive part of me, that I almost lost it just thinking about it. "You like that, don't you?" Her voice was low and throaty. I twitched as the sound of it washed over me. "I know you do," she proclaimed confidently. Our eyes locked, and the force behind the look Lizzie gave me left me reeling. Before I knew it, her grip had tightened, and I was leaning forward of my own accord. It was okay because she'd initiated it.

Just as I leaned in to brush my lips against hers, my eyes fluttered shut. Imagine my surprise when nothing connected. My eyes flew open in surprise, and there Lizzie was, leaning back, biting her lip. I opened my mouth to ask her what was going on when she spoke up suddenly. Her soft, little hand shifted dangerously. "Do you think it'll work on Derek?" she asked, her voice half a whisper. Rage flooded my veins immediately, and it was easy to forget where her hand was placed. I wanted to violently push her off of me. Of course Lizzie was coming on to me because of Derek! I'm just her test subject, a nice little experiment. I'm basically a chimp, a subhuman human substitute (and Lizzie's against animal testing, for crying out loud!). The indignity of it burned me up inside. I'm so tired of being her replacement for Derek. I'm **not** Derek, and I'm _nothing_ like him!

She looked down, anxious, like she wanted to know what I thought about the whole thing. I was too busy trying to control myself, torn between the dueling urges to throttle her or make her finish what she started. My body itched to do both, and it would be so easy to just... "I mean... I know he likes forward girls, right? And if I could make you forget that I was your sister, then I could make him forget, now couldn't I? Seduction's good?" Lizzie questioned, quite self-consciously. Her hand twisted down and around in her momentary distraction. I bit down painfully on my bottom lip, squinting my eyes shut. There was this innocence, this vulnerability to her that insured that I couldn't hate her, and so I hated myself for it. I tried to sit up a little bit, but her presence made that pretty much impossible. The seduction was too good.

It's just an illusion, I reminded myself. She doesn't want _you_, Edwin. I was momentarily surprised at the intensity of the bitterness in my thoughts.

"Okay, Liz, you're right about Derek liking sluts, but he would never forget that you're his sister. He would never cease to care, you get me? And seducing him... it's not the way to go about it," I managed tightly. I was surprised I hadn't said something a bit more biting. Yet I still didn't ask her to get off of me. Lizzie looked beautifully confused, which made her even harder to resist. I reached towards her, slipped my fingers under the waistband of her jeans and still further before she could even register it. When she did, she gasped, clearly surprised. Tempt not a desperate man, I thought. So close, I couldn't help but think. I wondered idly if she would feel like I remembered. Two can play this game, so don't play unless you want it to backfire on you, Liz.

"Seduction's bad. Very bad... You'll just creep him out," I told her instead in a gravely serious voice. "I mean, his stepsister, coming on to him? Even Derek would say no to that." Lizzie's face fell at that, and I almost felt guilty. What I didn't say was how he'd maybe have a different answer if it was the older one. I put my other hand on the small of her back and pushed her closer to me. "And I'm **not** Derek Venturi. I'm not your little guinea pig, Liz. You can't experiment on me anymore," I snarled.

I was breathing fast and furious. If she's going to do experiments on me, she should at least have the courtesy enough to ask me. It's in the code, you know? I leveled the full intensity of my own stare at her. "Now, why don't you take your hand off my dick unless you want me to do something about it?" I snapped with an uncharacteristic harshness. Lizzie's mouth, which was already wide open, widened further in disbelief. I ran my finger down the front of her underwear to show her I meant business. She started a little, eyes fluttering, and let out a soft "oh." I swallowed hard. Not really the image I need right now, Liz. I'd never spoken to her like that before, not even when we fought. She was frustratingly slow to react... not to mention way too close for my sanity. Her mouth closed slowly as she leaned forward a little like she wanted to say something to me.

Just then, of course, there was a loud banging on the window right by my head, and I turned to see Derek scowling down at us, suspicion written in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?!" His voice was muffled but with an undertone of something sharper. I immediately yanked my hand out from under her jeans. Suddenly, a millisecond later, Lizzie's hand was out of my pants and she was flying backwards, off my lap, crashing into the dashboard with the blanket falling behind her. She groaned in pain, rubbing her back, neck, and the back of her head, crouching uncomfortably in a position that recalled a parenthesis. But is it bad that I was relieved at the separation, consoled by the fact that I couldn't do anything stupid now?

Fleeing flushed, flustered, and guilty, I hastily got up and opened the door. I was still half turned on. As soon as I did, Derek reached out and abruptly pulled me up by my collar. His hands clenched into fists, and he was up in my face, exhaling hot waves of anger. I didn't see what the hell he had to be pissed about. I hadn't even done anything to him, and because my own brother was such an asshole, I'd had to sleep outside in my smelly car. If anyone should be pissed here, it should be me. And that's not even taking into account the fact that I haven't gotten laid in a year, and my stepsister is in love with my brother, and, oh, yeah, she's been experimenting on me! Derek glared at me, and for a moment I seriously thought he was going to punch me. I just stood there because Derek had practically lifted me up, and my feet were barely touching the ground.

Okay, fine, so I was scared of him. He's my older brother; I mean, what do you expect? Another part of me, too, felt like I deserved it for whatever had just happened with Lizzie. Really, I want to punch myself. I feel like an asshole. "What the _hell_, Derek?!" I spat when the rage in his eyes had abated some, and I finally felt secure enough. I grabbed his wrist and tried to rip it away from my collar, but Derek always had and always would be stronger than me. Derek's lips curled into an unfamiliar sneer.

Behind me I heard Lizzie fumbling with the door, scrambling to her feet, attempting to open it. She didn't get the door open, though, because Derek threw me up against the door and leaned down close, getting in my face yet again. My ribs and back hurt, and I hoped he hadn't broken anything. "What the hell, Edwin?" Derek repeated mockingly. He slammed my head against the roof of the car, and I winced. Searing pain exploded in the back of my head. What the hell was that for? I winced instinctively, my eyes screwing shut from the pain. I attempted to reach up and feel the back of my head, but Derek had me pinned against the car. "What the hell were you thinking? What on earth did you think you were doing to our sister?! God, Edwin, she's just a **kid**!" Derek shouted. There was an insane look in his eyes, one of sheer outrage.

I was immensely confused. Did he mistake Lizzie for Marti or something? Not that it matters, because I really didn't _do_ anything, but whatever! Besides, Lizzie was on top of me! If anything, she was taking advantage of _me_. I blinked, trying to back away from him. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Derek," I managed calmly. At least, I didn't think I did. Derek's stare was murderous, and it basically said that he thought I was a liar.

He bared his teeth at me like some kind of animal. "I'm talking about what I just witnessed with you and Lizzie! You know, you practically jumping her **bones** in the front seat of the Prince!" Derek snapped, the disgust palpable in his voice. I rolled my eyes at him, pulling his hands off of me. He'd made his point already.

"Well, for starters, Der, you've got it all wrong, as usual... Lizzie and I weren't doing anything inappropriate, and I _wasn't_ going to jump her. Oh, and in case you didn't notice, bro, she was on top of me, so don't try to say I was taking advantage. Thirdly, Derek, as I recall, you said you were all for hookin' me up with Liz and even offered to help. I was the one who said no. So forgive me, brother dearest, but I find this protective streak you've suddenly got going completely insane, especially since you and Lizzie have never exactly been that close," I countered mockingly, explaining away everything with a patience I had to conjure up. And maybe I was mocking him, but he deserves it for jumping automatically to the wrong conclusions.

As my words registered, Derek let go of me. He gave me this look like he didn't know what to do with me, and I wondered if he was going to apologize or punch me in the face. For the moment, he did neither. He just stood there. I brushed myself off and stared him down firmly, shrugging. "Besides, Lizzie's a big girl." I said it, but it didn't stop me from wanting to protect her either. "I don't know if you've realized it, but she's _not_ a kid anymore. She's definitely not a tomboy anymore, and she's becoming a woman... She can make her own decisions. She doesn't need you to make them for her," I informed him bluntly, barely managing to restrain the odd sense of glee I felt. "She'll screw who she wants to screw."

I do realize how ironic it is, okay, me saying that to him. Lizzie wants to screw him, or she thinks she does, anyway. Unlike Derek, though, I couldn't ignore the fact that she's grown up right in front of my eyes. Obviously I notice these things. And, of course, I obviously don't think she can make her own decisions since Derek is an unacceptable choice. He's my brother, and I love him; I've even looked up to him at certain points of my life, but he's not the guy I want for my sister. Now that I think about this, this whole situation is really messed up because my brother should never be considered as a possible romantic prospect for my sister. It reeks of incest.

He raised an eyebrow at what I said and gave me a kind of funny look. It made me sick inside to think of how widely Lizzie would be beaming at this, having two stepbrothers fighting over her. She could care less about me, but if Derek were receptive, she'd screw him immediately. She probably thinks it's... ugh... hot or something.

Derek grimaced. "You're sick, you know that, right?" He said it in a tone that I couldn't quite decipher. He was either genuinely disgusted with me or joking, and with Derek, it's impossible to tell. I took it as an insult. What, you don't think I know just how sick I am?! Does he think that I'm not thinking the exact same things as he is? Derek patted me on the shoulder a bit too hard, giving me a curious yet suspicious onceover.

"Just remember that she's still my sister... _our_ sister... okay? I'm trusting you to know what you're doing here, Ed. You know Lizzie better than I do, I'll give you that, and she can make her own decisions. But you better be careful with a girl like her because if you screw this up, it could screw our whole _family_ up... And if you hurt her, you'll be answering to me, got it? Because she's still my kid sister," Derek explained tersely, staring me down as if to determine my intentions. The point of it was that I came to understand that I would, in reality, be answering to his fists. He was operating from the principle that family protects family, lumping Lizzie under the same category as Marti, and, to a far different extent, Casey (because everything is different where Casey is concerned).

Although, if I was really getting involved with Lizzie, I'd be more careful because she can easily kick my ass, so Derek by comparison is an empty threat. I nodded calmly. "Honestly, Derek, I have no intention of pursuing Lizzie, so you've got nothing to worry about," I stated plainly. It was the truth. I think of her as my sister, and I'll always think of her as my sister, despite that crush I had on her way back when... and the weird feelings I've been having lately. Those feelings are just temporary, a sign that I've been celibate for far too long, and they'll go away when I find someone. Dan had a point too; I am too close to Lizzie, but that will decrease as a result of time and distance, so I might as well take advantage of the time I have now.

He scowled at me and once again pushed me up against the car. "Yeah, sure, Ed," he scoffed sarcastically, making a show of rolling his eyes at me. "If that's really the case, then why don't you explain to me what you two were doing in the car?" Derek drawled smoothly. He has this innate ability of sensing when he's found something, taking it, running away with it, and pulling doggedly at the thread until it all unravels. He raised his eyebrows and waited impatiently for an answer.

My reaction was instinctive and instant. "None of your business!" I snapped, shoving him backwards with a force that surprised the both of us. Derek liked to pry a lot more than he was willing to acknowledge, and that was just what he was doing then. Now, I realize if I didn't want to look guilty, I probably shouldn't have said that, but it still shouldn't have been any of his business. The problem was that it _was_ his business, since Lizzie had implicated him in it by falling in love with him and making me a sort of... replacement... for him.

Then, of course, there's the whole problem of the fact that I have no idea what was going on in the car. All I know is that things got dangerously out of hand, and if Derek hadn't interrupted when he did, one of us probably would've done something we would regret, most likely me. Of course, I wasn't about to tell Derek any of that because I wanted to push what had just happened as far from my mind as possible. In an attempt to save face, I continued valiantly but also defensively, "Look, D, I'm not even attracted to her, okay?" Still didn't outright say nothing went down. Why didn't I just tell him that? It would be so much simpler, so much more clear-cut that way, and then he wouldn't be so damn suspicious.

Derek snorted loudly, clearly disbelieving, as well he should be since I was outright lying to him. "You're telling me you're not attracted to her? Come on, Ed, how dumb do I look? Living with a hot teenage girl... you think I don't know what that's like?" he asked incredulously. There was a strong undercurrent of sympathy in his voice, and I couldn't help but think that he'd definitely opened up a can of worms he didn't want to answer. Every word he spoke smacked of Casey and that taboo subject there, under the surface, that we didn't talk about. He had called Lizzie hot in a roundabout way, though, hadn't he? I couldn't help but wonder if he noticed her after all, like I couldn't help but notice. She'd be thrilled if she knew.

When he got down to it, I thought Derek knew _exactly_ what it was like. Nevertheless, for a long moment, I debated whether or not I should say that aloud... since I was kind of afraid he was going to kill me. Eventually, though, I made up my mind. "Oh, no, Derek. I'm well aware that you know exactly what that's like. I'm not going to argue with you anymore," I said coolly. But I didn't say her name, and maybe I should have. "But I'm not you." Derek gave me a weird look, like he was confused by my sudden change of mood, but I sent him a look in return, and then he suddenly understood. I thought he wouldn't do anything to me because I hadn't said her name, but I was wrong.

He came towards me, reaching out for my collar again. "What does that mean, Ed?" he spat. I gave Derek a look. He knew exactly what I meant, so do I really need to say it out loud? No, I don't. Derek can't go around making comments like that and not expect me to call him on it. I bared my teeth at him and didn't answer, shoving him away from me. Derek is, however, far stronger than I am, and I was wrong to forget that.

Finally, at the point where we had reached this stand-off, Lizzie flung open the car door and dashed over to us. She wasted no time in coming between us, removing Derek's hands from my person. I rolled my eyes behind her back, knowing that her eagerness was more due to Derek than saving me from his wrath. She probably didn't even care about how she'd messed with me in the car. "Derek..." Of course she looked at him first. Then she looked at me. "Edwin..." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Would one of you please tell me what's going on here? Because it looks like you two are about to break out into a fist fight, which would be incredibly stupid," Lizzie pointed out rather insistently.

She gave me in particular a look, like it was all my fault. Then again, it also could've been because I should've known better than to fight with Derek, who is much more skilled. I shot a look at Derek, gesturing for him to explain it. It was only fair since he was the one who'd attacked me. Derek raised his eyebrows at me, floundering for a moment because he didn't know what he was supposed to say either. Lizzie turned to look at him, and, as usual, Derek turned on the charm with a lie he thought about on the spot. He couldn't well comment on what he thought he'd seen.

He smiled tightly, but Liz probably didn't notice, too caught up in the radiance of his grin. "We were just having a little... chat, that's all. Brother to brother. Edwin didn't exactly take my helpful, well-intentioned advice the right way, and he got a little angry with me... so that's how we wound up rough-housing," Derek explained smoothly. He shot me periodic glares every now and then. I gaped at him like a fish, but Liz wasn't looking at me. The words that came out of his mouth were such obvious lies that no one who knew him well would've believed him for an instant.

For starters, Derek is never well-intentioned, and him saying so means that he is obviously not well-intentioned at all. Secondly and more importantly, Derek was the one who tried to attack me first, as anyone who witnessed it could attest. He was clearly the aggressor. I was surprised how irritated it made me when Lizzie just nodded her head and automatically accepted what he said as truth. It was like she'd chosen him, the Lord of Lies, over me, her best friend and partner-in-crime for the better part of eight years, and the feeling left a bitter taste in my mouth. She took the time to shoot me a dirty, scolding look, but I couldn't feel shame for that.

I felt, instead, a hot wave of anger, and I knew I needed to get away from the two of them as soon as I possibly could. I opened my mouth to make my excuses, any excuse that would come to mind and get me out of there, but Lizzie interrupted me. "Well," she said slowly, turning her sympathetic eyes to Derek once again, "He's still your brother, and some times you just have to let things go. After all, this isn't hockey, Derek. You don't want him to get hurt." There was a motherly sort of concern in her voice that made me roll my eyes. Thanks a lot, Mom.

Great. Yet another time in my life where Lizzie decides to fight my battles for me. How terribly ironic, given that this one was fought over her. I'm almost eighteen years old now, and I am so damn tired of being pushed around. So help me, Newton, I will put an end to that phase of my life. Derek was smirking over her head at that somewhat gleefully, smug she'd taken his word for it, and too consumed in himself to notice her starry eyes and reverent voice. But I could, however, and seeing the dopey expression on Lizzie's face directed towards my big brother made me sick to my stomach.

Lizzie batted her eyelashes at my brother, which made her look like some kind of insipid, lopsided doll. Fortunately, Derek was too oblivious to notice. He was still silently gloating over his victory, basking in the glow of being right. She licked her lips, and Derek didn't even bat an eyelash. He didn't even notice. He wasn't even looking at her; instead, he was looking mysteriously at some point over her shoulder. Derek didn't notice at all, but I did. I watched the bubblegum pink tongue darting out to moisten her full, dark pink, achingly seductive lips with rapt attention. "So, Derek, want to go to the rink with me? I could really use some practice," she asked. The excitement in her voice was palpable.

Derek frowned, somewhat confused. The occasions in which she'd asked him to practice with her were few and far between since she'd gotten good at hockey. He shot me a questioning glance, but I merely turned away, unwilling to reveal anything. My features were carefully schooled into a blank expression, but I was getting increasingly frustrated with the situation. I didn't like feeling replaced. "Don't you usually go with Edwin?" Derek replied somewhat incredulously.

She bit her lip, having been caught, and nodded almost imperceptibly. That was the way it had been for a long time. Then she forced a small, shy smile and looked back up at Derek. "I do... but I wanted to practice with someone who actually knows what he's doing," she responded after a moment of consideration. I flinched despite myself, and I hated the fact that the first thing my mind jumped to was sex, and of course Derek's always so much more experienced on me.

Even Derek realized her faux-pas, and he shot me another look, unable to believe she'd just insulted me so carelessly right in front of my face. The look was surprisingly sympathetic, almost pitying, a silent way of admitting that I was right, and he had no idea how things really were between Lizzie and me. Watching this with eyes that rapidly slid back and forth from Derek to me, Liz realized what she'd said a moment later.

She looked genuinely apologetic and squeezed my hand as if to make up for it. Then, of course, her eyes got harder, and she once again looked Derek in the eyes. "I mean... I'd like to know how the boys do it. It'll make me a better player... and who better to practice with than my big brother, the hockey star?" Liz elaborated, taking pains this time to not inadvertently offend me. I forgave her instantly, of course, because she was so preoccupied with my brother, but there were lots of other things I hadn't quite forgotten.

As soon as she said it, this cold look passed over Liz's face. She realized she'd said the wrong thing entirely out of habit, and she stiffened a little in response. Despite her words, Derek wasn't really a brother to her. He was more like some distant, fascinating figure to be admired and reviled. Plus, calling Derek her brother is kind of counterproductive if she ever wants him to not consider her a sister.

There's one sure-fire way she could do that, but I'm not going to tell her... Be more like Casey. It's really as simple as that. However, even despite Derek's sisterly feelings for Liz, there's still an off-chance that might work, so why share that information with her? She might want me to help her, and I might have agreed, but that doesn't mean I can't sabotage her. After all, I'm doing her a favor. She doesn't really want to get involved with the nuclear reactor that is my brother. He's brilliant and energetic but full of toxic waste, and he'll poison you to death if you don't handle him exactly right. When it comes to my brother, Lizzie is going into this like Marie Curie, handling and refining the nuclear material with her bare hands, no insulation and no protection. She's just asking to get burned and die because she has no idea what she's dealing with here.

Derek furrowed his brow, glancing between the two of us in confusion. He gave me a look, clearly wondering what was going on, and, judging by the look on my face, he wisely decided to stay out of it. He turned back to Lizzie, an apologetic smile already forming on his lips. Oh, yes, my brother is a pro at letting down girls, and he's doing it with even more finesse lately. "Look, Lizzie, you know I'd love to, but I've got this huge midterm tomorrow, and I really need to do good on it... So I should be headed to the library," Derek lied easily. After all these years, it was still somewhat difficult to believe my brother actually cared about schoolwork.

Then again, knowing Derek, it probably wasn't too much of a lie. He'd almost been suspended from school for gambling. He ran a very successful business as a bookie and card shark on the side. I rolled my eyes at him. "You're flunking, aren't you?" Derek turned to me and shrugged, letting out a sigh, acknowledging that I was right. Typical Derek, I couldn't help but think. Lizzie glowered at me out of the perception that I'd brought her hero down a peg, but I hadn't. Derek has always been very forthright about his grades and not really ashamed of his substandard performance. He doesn't need to worry about his performance because he performs better in the nonacademic factors of life, partly from lack of trying and partly from a natural aptitude for more hands-on endeavors.

Lizzie put her hand on his arm to comfort him, but Derek once again failed to notice this. He wasn't looking for comfort. His eyes were on me instead. "I need this class for my major, and I have to pass it to graduate... So, sorry, Lizzie, ordinarily I'd love to play hockey with you, but today I can't. I've gotta focus on my screenwriting. My script's due tomorrow, and I have next to no idea what to do," Derek explained in a rush. I was surprised to notice that, for once, my big brother actually looked worried. Naturally, because he's my brother, I was worried for him too.

My darling sister's mouth was slightly open, as if she was searching for the words but couldn't find them. She didn't know quite what to say to that. However, I did; an old memory sparked an idea in my head. In retrospect, it was a somewhat idiotic thing to say, but I just wanted to help my brother. I might not always like him, but he's still my brother, and I want what's best for him just like he (somewhere very deep down, bottom of the ocean, Mariana Trench deep) wants the best for me. "Hey, Derek, why don't you just ask Casey? She's an English major, and didn't she take a screenwriting class a couple years ago? I'm sure if you just called her up and asked, she'd give you a crash course in how to do it," I suggested without thinking.

Derek raised his eyebrows, stunned by my suggestion. It took a few moments to feel the force of his glare. Even Liz had a warning look on her face like she knew why it was such a bad idea. Just then, of course, I realized I'd made a fatal miscalculation. I'd vastly underestimated Derek's pride, which prohibited him from seeking help, especially from Casey. More importantly, however, I'd forgotten his recent tendency to avoid her at all costs. Derek looked oddly pale, like all the color had drained out of his face, making it clear that he had no intentions of calling Casey. Had something happened? A minute later, Derek swallowed hard and forced a smile. "I think I'd better do this on my own, Ed."

He turned to Liz, who was convinced enough by his smile. Still, Derek didn't look the same. I knew he had issues with Casey, but he'd never paled before upon my mentioning her name. Then again, Casey probably wanted to talk to Derek just as much as he wanted to talk to her, given how she almost never visited and spoke only enough words to Derek to be polite when she was there. "Hey, Liz, why don't you practice with Edwin instead? He knows your playing style better anyway," Derek said, reminding her of the old tradition.

She pouted a little but finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Okay... I guess I can do that. You'll practice with me next time, though, right?" she conceded, whining a little. I tried not to grimace, but it was just so sickening how she was practically throwing herself at him. It was a bit cathartic, though, that Derek didn't notice whatsoever, which, when you think about it, is pretty odd, given that Derek's girl radar is fully in tune. He can spot feminine interest (and desperation) from miles away. But maybe it's busted when it comes to detecting the difference between stepsisterly affection and infatuation. I tried not to think about what Derek would do if (and when?) he finally noticed because I found that I didn't want to think about it at all. After all, I knew what he usually did when girls were interested, and it generally didn't involve a lot of talking or tenderness.

And Lizzie deserves things like that, nice things, instead of my brother's rabid screw-everything ideas. Derek nodded rather distractedly. "Yeah, yeah, sure," he muttered, still not paying her much attention. "Anyways, gotta go. See ya later." He offered the both of us a lame wave and then walked past us, over to his car. He didn't look back when he drove off.

The minute his car went out of sight, Lizzie whirled around and slugged me in the arm. Hard. "Why the hell did you have to go and do something so idiotic!" I let out a cry of pain and rubbed my sore arm, scowling at her. Liz frowned right back, annoyed, unhappy, and unsatisfied. "I was making progress," she sniffed. A pretty pout formed on her lips. I felt a small stirring of satisfaction at that, glad now she knew the bitter taste of dissatisfaction and disappointment.

I rolled my eyes at her. "I'm sorry, Liz. Forgive me. I didn't realize that I was banned from uttering Casey's name like it's some dirty word," I rejoined sarcastically, shooting her a dirty look. Lizzie scowled at me, cocking a hand and placing it on her hip. "You know, since she's your big sister and all," I continued pointedly. She looked a bit uneasy. It was awfully convenient for Lizzie too, not to hear Casey's name mentioned and have anyone bother comparing her to her perfect older sister. I took a step closer to Liz. "Maybe you ought to start asking yourself _why_ for a change." Then I turned and walked towards the car, opening the driver's side door expectantly.

When I looked back up at her, she was still scowling. Both hands were on her hips. "And what is that supposed to mean, Edwin?" she inquired suspiciously, fixing me with a tough stare. It's supposed to get you wondering about this, to realize that something is obviously wrong here. Maybe it's... maybe it's no wonder that I'm having all these weird thoughts about Lizzie lately. It's not just because of the past or because I haven't gotten laid in a while. Maybe it's the fact that we've never had a normal stebsibling relationship modeled for us, not that normal is this family's strong suit. So as much as I do think of Lizzie as my sister, we don't have the same blood running through our veins (and I can't forget that), and I've never seen a stepsibling relationship that wasn't laced with an undercurrent of something else entirely, something more, something wrong. It must be so much worse for Derek.

I shrugged and tried to pretend that I didn't want to answer. In reality, I couldn't. My mouth would open, but no sounds would come out. It was as if I couldn't bear to vocalize it. To say it out loud felt somehow inviolable, like I'd be breaking a law or shattering some illusion I desperately needed to cling to. There it was, though, nonetheless, beneath the surface of my mind, ingrained firmly in my subconscious, and Lizzie didn't even have a clue. "If you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you," I informed her, shaking my head. "Now, are we going to get going or not?"

Lizzie sighed, rolling her eyes at me and climbing into the passenger's seat. "Whatever..." I slid into the driver's seat, shutting the door at the exact same moment as Lizzie slammed hers. The whole car shook. She fastened her seatbelt while I worked mine with one hand and fished around for the keys with the other. As soon as I found them, I adjusted the mirrors. I looked over at Lizzie for a brief moment; she was shivering. So I put the key in the ignition and turned on the heat. Her teeth were chattering as we pulled out.

The heat kicked in a few minutes later, to the relief of the both of us. We didn't talk much at all, and Liz just turned on the radio to some boring channel. We arrived at home ten or so minutes after that and exited the car in the same eerie silence. It was beginning to bother me since I was starting to feel like I'd gotten into a fight with her when I hadn't, really. We both loaded our bags with the gear we used for hockey, which was, in my case, Derek's hand-me-downs. That's basically the story of my life.

We both knew the rink was going to be almost deserted. It usually wasn't, but our rink wasn't very popular anyway. Mostly people from SJST High go there, since the school rents it out exclusively for games and hockey practice. There was supposed to be a game today but the other team canceled. Their team apparently got decimated in a game against their rival school, so most of the team's injured, and their captain and goalie are currently in the hospital. Predictably, the rink was practically devoid of all people when we showed up except for the guy running it.

We suited up back to back in the locker room, as usual, but we didn't speak at all, and for the first time in a while, Lizzie didn't ask me for help fastening something. I could tell by the stiff line of her back that she was angry. While lacing up my skates, I realized why. She resented that I was here instead of Derek. This time, even her favorite little substitute wasn't good enough for her. The thought made me clench my jaw tight, like I had something to prove. We stepped out onto the rink, myself a bit more hesitantly than Liz, who was perfectly at home on the ice. She skated over to one of the goals, and I followed her example by skating over to the other one.

Liz decided she was going to take shots without asking me or even having the courtesy to warn me. I'm not the best goalie in the world, for sure, but I'm used to having things fly at various parts of my body. Over the years of being Derek and Lizzie's goalie (and more often than not, target), I've gotten pretty good at dodging a puck to the face or blocking a shot. She only scored that time because she skated up to me so fast, sending the puck this way and then that way, handling it with such skill that it was a black blur. I wasn't expecting her to pull to such a sudden stop, digging the edge of her skate hard into the ice to break. She stopped maybe ten millimeters away from me and my face and then smacked the puck into the goal between my legs.

She skated off defiantly, making a face at me, then she spun in circles around the goal to both piss me off and make me dizzy. Once again, she took advantage of my distraction and confusion to fish out the puck with a deft flick of her wrist. She sped down the ice once again, effectively skating a lap as I'd seen her do many times. Liz is the team's main center forward because she's the fastest skater. Tanya's very jealous, of course, despite being team captain, since she usually winds up playing either winger or defense. She's a bit of an enforcer, due to all of that aggression, so she's more flexible since she'll do just about anything possible to prevent someone from scoring. One time she even flashed the ref to distract him from the fact that she'd just whacked another girl in the head with her hockey stick. Needless to say she didn't get a penalty.

Then Lizzie whirled around and came flying at me, fast and furious. There was a rather unfamiliar snarl on her face; I'd forgotten how aggressive she became with all that adrenaline in her. She was like a fireball of pure energy, focused intently on driving the puck where she wanted it to go, and this time I was ready for her. Her intentness on the puck meant that she wasn't thinking very clearly, so I hunched over a little, ready to block her. I moved a second before she made the shot. Liz has a tendency to shoot left because people don't expect it (being ambidextrous has its advantages), so it was fairly easy to block the shot.

Lizzie likes winning, and she likes making shots, so she tends to get a bit peeved when she misses one. The violence with which she responded surprised me, though, since it was certainly out of character. Such behavior isn't quite as accepted in women's ice hockey as it is in men's. Liz is, of course, annoyed with this because it suggests that women are delicate flowers who aren't capable of say, a full body-check. Trust me, these girls _are_. Many of them are more muscular than me and mannish-looking. We're a pretty competitive school. She bent back, swiped at the puck with her stick and shot it savagely, hitting me in the groin. Luckily I was wearing padding and all that, but it still didn't feel too great.

I glowered at her. Our casual game was starting to feel a bit personal. I responded by bumping her away lightly and then flinging the puck all the way across the rink. Lizzie dashed after it, and I could merely stare, stunned I'd been able to get the puck that far. I was reluctant to actually push her away and risk hurting her. Lizzie was so intent on her speed that this time she either forgot to stop or else didn't slow down in time. Either way, she crashed into me, knocking over the goal and sending the both of us sprawling onto the ice. I tried to grab on to her to remain upright, but her momentum was simply too much, and I went down hard, landing on my ass and elbows. I grunted in pain.

Once again, she was on top of me. If this happens to me any more often, I'm going to start thinking it's a pattern. It felt like she deliberately rolled her hips getting off of me or something, but that was ridiculous and probably wishful thinking or a misinterpretation on my part. After that, though, I wasn't about to take any more of her crap, so I scrambled to my feet, falling on my ass a couple more times before finally regaining my balance. No more target practice for me. I righted the goal and almost immediately turned to the side and shoved her away from me. Then I grabbed my stick, skated around her, and skated all the way down to the other side as fast as I could, easily scoring a goal.

Naturally, she came flying after me, as mad as a pranked Casey, and elbowed me to the side, retrieving the puck and flicking it over towards the goal. She might have scored, if I hadn't stopped the puck with my skate. It bounced a little, and while it was still in the air, I slapped it back to Lizzie, who immediately jumped to block it. She was successful that time, but she hadn't anticipated my anger. Oh, mine ran so much deeper than hers, buried so far under my skin that I was like a volcano ready to burst and blow my load. Unlike Lizzie, my rage only makes me more focused on my task; it makes everything so much sharper in my mind.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I thought about that awful trick she'd done to me that morning, how she knew just how to play me, how she used me as an experiment. I thought about the way Derek had reacted, despite him pledging to help me in wooing her, a girl I don't even want who just so happens to share a sibling with me. He reacted so violently and for no reason since I'd done nothing wrong. I thought some more about how everyone always lumped me with him, compared me to my perfect big brother who could do no wrong, expected me to be like him, used me, treated me like a cheap substitute for the real thing. Then I thought of Dad expecting me to balance his checkbook for him, as if he couldn't add and subtract on his own and didn't even write that many checks anyways. And then I thought of Jamie, Tanya, Michelle, and Teddy, and every other person who'd pissed me off in the past month.

I didn't know I was that furious, that I'd been bottling everything up for so long, but suddenly I was taking out my aggressions on the goal. Slap, one goal scored, and I didn't even know I was doing it. It was instinctive, and I wondered if maybe this was how Derek stayed so stress-free and stopped from killing people who got on his nerves. As much as I don't want to be like Derek, as much as I'm not him, as much as I resent him, I still wish I was more like him... in the ways that matter. I'm always going to be a little jealous of Derek. Everything comes so easily to him; everyone likes him. He does nothing, never tries for anything, works for almost nothing, and he's _still_ the freaking golden boy. His life seems so perfect sometimes that it makes me want to throw up out of envy. Another goal, another still.

It was like I was in this strange trance, and all I could do was block Lizzie's shots and shoot at her and the goal. Thinking about Derek never fails to get me wound up. I knocked one shot out of the air, spun around, and hit it in a little above her right shoulder. It felt good, that small victory. Liz isn't really what you'd call a good goalie, but then again, I'm not what you would call a good hockey player. She flung the puck back at me with a brute force that would've impressed me, had I not been used to Derek's harder shots. I flipped the stick back up just in time to send the puck ricocheting back towards her. Once it lost a little attitude, I further batted it out of the air and slapped it in.

We were playing really close, neither of us moving too much. She was getting desperate, so she clawed around for the puck, accidentally kicking it out in a rather shameful manner. I slid forward immediately and flicked it back in just as quickly. Apparently my grasp of geometrical principles comes in handy for more than hustling pool. Who knew it could be applied to hockey too? Then again, Lizzie's performance could've also been reflecting her state of mind. Judging by the color in her cheeks, she was definitely angry, probably with me (and Derek), which in Lizzie's case results in more distraction and thus a worse performance. She bared her teeth at me a bit unkindly and smacked at my stick, trying to push me back.

However, I was not deterred by that gesture. She got me far enough away from her so that she could hit the puck out of the goal, but I stopped it before she could get the puck far enough away from me for her to have the advantage. I intercepted the puck and skated back towards her, firing it into the goal with precision. We repeated this pattern a few more times, but I knew her so well that none of her lunges were successful. I could predict her moves before she made them, while she remained unaware of my movements, having rarely seen me play offensive. Just this one I was tired of being everyone's punching bag, practice buddy, experiment, scapegoat.

Eventually, though, it was so obvious that I was beating Lizzie that I started getting a bit smug about it. I'm sure I was making comments like Derek would have, taunting her and the like, and Lizzie just got so sick of it that she decided to kick my ass. So, anyway, Liz charged me like an enraged animal, knocking the stick out of my hands, and shoving me back. I don't have a very good grasp on the ice when I'm standing, let alone when something has knocked me back, so I knew that I was going to fall. Unfortunately for Lizzie, she too lost her balance, and I took advantage of her wobbling to grab on to her for support. Instead of that, however, I wound up spinning her around and dragging her down with me. Since I'd twisted her around, I landed on top of her for a change.

My first thought, horribly enough, was that I'd wanted this for a while. I was more than a little breathless, and my weight had knocked all the breath out of poor Lizzie. She was mostly still beneath me; it was hard to feel anything more than the heaving of our chests through the heavy padding, but there she was. The thought of her under all those layers, of me getting the chance to peel them back one by one like onionskin, the ice cold beneath bare skin, was almost too much to bear. My throat became painfully dry at the mere thought, and I swallowed hard. It didn't change the fact that my skin felt tighter, my clothes so much more constricting.

I didn't hurry to get off of her either. Under the pretense of being breathless and exhausted, I stayed there, firmly in place, enjoying every wrong minute of it. It felt good, comforting, even. Our limbs were tangled, and my body was sluggish to respond to her desires, so I pulled myself away from her slowly, bit by bit. My breath hit her face, and I felt her desperate, hungry little gasps for air against my neck. I bit my lip upon hearing the little noises she made unconsciously. Nevertheless, it was a somewhat familiar position for us; we often collapsed half on top of each other after periods of strenuous exercise (usually on Lizzie's part). You would think I'd know how to behave.

Lizzie scowled at me, bringing her leg up, pushing me with her knee. "Geroff, Edwin! You're so damn heavy! I can barely breathe! Sheesh!" she exclaimed somewhat melodramatically, managing to shove me and push me off of her and flat onto my back on the ice. She barely laid there like that for a minute before rolling on top of me, reversing our positions. She smirked down at me, wisps of hair escaping her helmet and tickling my face. Her hands were on my chest, firmly pressing me down. Furthermore, she was straddling me, which meant, of course, that I was immensely distracted.

She rocked forward absently on her heels, and I almost groaned. I struggled in vain to get her off of me, flailing and kicking my legs, trying to shove her or shift our balance, but nothing worked. Still, I _had_ to get her off of me because I was going to do something stupid if I didn't, like lose the control I'd worked for so diligently. Lizzie kept grinning down at me like some damn vixen, and I half-wanted to strangle her for it. Of course, the other half of me countered that it felt a lot like she was riding me, given her position and the way I was thrashing beneath her.

Indeed, she firmly remained planted on top of me, straddling me, her powerful thighs around my waist, holding me down. Her grip tightened around me instinctively when I tried to break free, and her grin widened a little bit at that. If I didn't know her better, I'd think she took some form of sadistic enjoyment in tormenting me. For all I know, she could... but if she did, she wouldn't be the Lizzie I love or the Lizzie I know. "Ah, ah, ah, Ed. Who's on top now?" she taunted, getting in my face to be more obnoxious. She was rubbing it in (quite literally). She giggled slightly hysterically, and I was glad to realize that all was forgiven.

I sighed, faced with the only option available to me: playing dirty. So I ran my hands up her thighs, causing her grip on me to slacken. Almost paradoxically, however, when I ran my hands up the inside of her thighs, she clenched her thighs tight around my waist, bringing me close enough to rub against her. Even through all of those layers of clothes, it felt like fire. My eyes briefly fluttered, wanting to give in to the sensation, but a clearer head prevailed. My eyes shot open, and I stared at her determinedly.

Oh, I couldn't carry on like that, so I pushed her a little to the side so that her center of balance would shift. At the same time, I pushed up against her, and the combined force was enough to send her sprawling to the ice, flipping our positions. Desperately, I tried not to think of what that desperate push meant, of how close it was to a swan song, how close it was to giving in. I tried not to remember the feeling, the friction, how satisfying it was to switch positions, to use nothing but my body to push her down on the ice. Clearly I'm not trying hard enough because the whole incident is burned in my memory in a very physical way.

Needing to stabilize my grip to gloat properly, I pressed against her, virtually holding her down while I moved my legs to the outside of hers, effectively pinning her legs together. After all, I knew what lethal weapons those legs could be. She squirmed beneath me somewhat uncomfortably, but I didn't dare move an inch. Oh, I was _so_ close to losing it that I could practically taste the coming defeat, the relief of submission, and the sick, sweet and slick shame that would follow.

I was sitting back on my haunches a little, not straddling her as completely as she'd straddled me (not that I really could anyway, even if the parts didn't get in the way). For my own sanity alone, I did not need that much contact. Naturally, though, I took it upon myself to lean down a bit and replicate the smirk she found so irresistible. Not, of course, because _she_ finds it irresistible, but because I'd really turned the tables on her. "Looks like it's me, Liz," I retorted smugly. After all, I had to at least feign control over my faculties. I can't very well let her know just how much she gets to me because then she has all the power, and I need every last semblance of control I can possibly maintain.

Man, this is hard.

She scowled at me and brought her fist up to punch me. She moved too slow, though, so I assumed she didn't really want to hurt me. At any rate, I caught her fist, pushing her hand down by the wrist so that she wouldn't punch me in the chest or, worse, the groin. Truthfully, I should've done that earlier. I repeated the process with the other wrist, leaning forward unconsciously, bringing my face closer to hers. Reflexively, I licked my lips, and I watched as Lizzie's eyes darted down to look at my lips with a flicker of interest. The breath hitched in my throat, and, damn it, I wanted to kiss her.

There's no doubt in my mind that I would have if we hadn't been interrupted. My entire body was hinging forward to rise to the challenge, and... I don't know what Lizzie was doing, what she wanted. Her eyes were dark and murky; I couldn't read the emotions reflected there. Honestly, the mystery was kind of hot. Sometimes it's a nice change from the familiarity, and there's nothing I love more than getting down to the bottom of something so seemingly unsolvable. Really, though, sometimes I think I'm never going to know what she wants. Girls are still very much a mystery to me, kind of like the intricacies of quantum physics. There just aren't any concrete answers. They're very abstract and inextricably complicated creatures, and there's no animal more puzzling than a human female.

As I was contemplating my next move and the many different colors swirling in Lizzie's eyes, I angled forward just a bit more for a deeper look. I felt her breath on my lips, tempting and thin, and I'd just decided to close the distance but was taking my time in going about it. (Un)fortunately for me, however, we were interrupted by a man's voice. "What are you kids doing?" His voice was loud, and I glanced up immediately, noticing that he was standing on the ice. But, of course, I was on thinner ice, and it was cracking beneath me.

He was a wiry figure, thin and stern in a way, and terribly familiar-looking. I stifled a groan as best as I could, mind fast filling with every dirty word I could conjure up. Upon seeing him, I promptly fell off of Lizzie, who rose to her feet admirably. I was thinking in angry fragments, glaring daggers at him without even thinking. The ice couldn't cool me down enough. The man just happened to be the men's hockey coach at our school. He's new and young, and thus he did not know who my brother was. Derek Venturi was before his time, so why on earth would he know me? My brother is how everyone knows me. He did, however, recognize Lizzie, as indicated by the light of recognition in his eyes. "You, boy!" he remarked loudly, gesturing to me. "What's your name?" he demanded. This was a man who was very used to getting what he wanted.

Struggling to get to my feet, I rolled my eyes at him. Liz, who had flashed the coach an awkward smile, reached over to help me up. Her grip on my arm was firm and stabilizing. The coach, of course, continued to stare at me expectantly. I realized a bit too late that he actually wanted an answer from me; I wasn't very used to people asking me questions. I was feeling like being difficult, so I didn't tell him my name. I answered him coolly, brushing myself off, "What do you want?" I removed my helmet slowly, and Lizzie reached up and immediately ruffled my damp hair, casually dragging her fingers through the thick, matted strands in a soothing way. I shuddered all over at the sensation, masking it as a shiver. I was drenched to the skin, sticky with sweat, and uncomfortable with the bulky, heavy, chafing clothes.

Coach was clearly not impressed by this answer, but I wasn't about to tell him my name. If he didn't know it, then obviously he didn't know the school half as well as he should. He frowned and looked like he wanted to ask me again, but I studiously ignored him. It was easy, given that Lizzie was still so flushed, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have done. She sort of had, and I found it rather strange that the man had nothing to say about the compromising position he'd caught us in earlier. Soon enough the coach decided that the awkward silence didn't suit any of us, and he sought to remedy it. "I caught the end of that game and it looks like you've got moves. Why haven't I seen you play hockey before? You'd be a natural on the team," he told me frankly. At first, I wasn't even aware of my jaw dropping, but when I turned to look at an equally-stunned Liz, it became clear she was mirroring the look on my face.

He walked towards the two of us, and I unconsciously drew Lizzie closer still to my side for protection. He came so close that I felt he was going to reach out and touch me, place his hand on my shoulder or something, but he didn't. The man smiled faintly, holding out his hand for me to shake, "Look, I'm Richard Anderson, and I'm the coach of men's hockey at Sir John Sparrow Thompson High. You do go there, right? Seriously, though, you should try out for us sometime. You'd be a great asset to the team," he told me. I stared at his hand hesitantly and only shook it after Liz reminded me of my manners with a dirty look. I had no reason to think he was being anything less than sincere, yet I could merely blink at him in sheer disbelief.

"You _must _be joking!" I exclaimed somewhat awkwardly. Lizzie shot me a look, hearing the strain in my voice. Coach merely looked confused. I shook my head stubbornly, moving away from Lizzie. I needed to stand on my own. "Look, you're wrong about me. I'm not a good hockey player. I can barely stay upright on the ice, let alone play... Hockey, it's not my thing. You've got the wrong guy," I stated calmly. You've got the wrong Venturi, I almost said. "Besides, I'm in my last year, and it's the middle of hockey season. I couldn't try out, even if I wanted to," I pointed out hurriedly, hoping that would dissuade him from his mistaken idea that I would actually be an asset in a hockey game.

The man was stubborner than I gave him credit for being. He shook his head and took a few more steps towards me, flashing Lizzie and me a smile, looking from her to me. "You might think that, but from what I saw, minus your little wrestling session, you were doing a pretty good job of kicking McDonald's ass. I've seen this girl beat up my star forward, and I know she can take on most of the guys on the team head-on. As for trying out, don't worry about it. I'll make an exception. If you come, you'll get a chance to try out. I'm not gonna lie... You'll have to catch up, and you're going to have a lot of work to do... But I think you're a hard worker, and that you can rise to the challenge," he explained with a fair amount of admiration.

I looked over to Liz, who was flushing lightly, no doubt from the remembrance of the incident he'd mentioned (but which one? The hockey player incident or the impromptu wrestling match?). She'd dated more than one hockey player, and her break-up with Tony had been dramatic, to say the least. She was playing a hockey game with them last winter outside on this lake a ways out, and he said some things... I don't know all the details, but it ended with Liz kicking his ass. He fell through the ice and probably would've died if she hadn't pulled him out. He was benched for a while afterwards because he'd developed a case of severe pneumonia as a result.

Lest he think his argument had any effect on me, I continued vocalizing my refusal. "You're mistaken," I said coldly, rubbing my runny nose. "I was helping her practice. I know her moves. I was holding my own for a change. That's all it was. It doesn't mean I'm good at hockey because I'm not. Really, I'm flattered by your offer, but you're better off without me on your team," I continued firmly. I wasn't really being modest; I was just telling him the truth. He'd said a lot of flattering things, and I wish I could believe him but I know better. Stick to what you're good at; that's what I'm doing. I have no business playing hockey.

He gave me a skeptical look. "Like I said, if you can hold your own against her, I'd put you on my team any day," he persisted, further frustrating me. Why didn't he understand that I had no desire to play hockey nor the ability to do so properly? He didn't understand that all the jocks hated me already, that they'd picked on me in middle school and would have continued to do so if they didn't know who my brother was. He didn't understand how they'd resent a guy like me, with no interest in the sport, sweeping into the game, invading their territory. They'd hate me, haze me, and forever view me as an unwanted interloper. Not that I even wanted to play, anyway. I only play hockey for fun or to relieve stress nowadays. "Look, you don't _have_ to try out." His hand clapped down upon my shoulder, and I almost bolted.

It was only Lizzie's firm stare that kept me planted there. One chastising look from her and I was looking at him in the eyes. He was uncomfortably close and uncomfortably familiar with me. "I'd really like it if you did, of course, and I'm sure you'd make it if you did, but..." I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. Let's just say that I don't always perform well under pressure. "Just promise me you'll think about it, okay? Promise me that much, and I'll leave you alone," he insisted firmly. I sighed and thought for a moment. I didn't really have anything to lose by promising him, so I nodded.

"Fine, I'll think about it," I told him unwillingly, lying through my teeth. I didn't mean to contemplate it at all. I would never fit in on the ice. It's not my place. He shook my hand enthusiastically. His grip was strong, and his hand pumped mine. His eyes were bright and almost feverish; he must be really desperate to make the conference this year. At any rate, it wasn't my concern. I had never been to a hockey game one of my family members wasn't playing in, and I didn't have much desire to do so, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, I like watching games on TV, and I wouldn't mind seeing a professional game in person... but I had little desire to go to school sports events and little care for their outcomes.

He smiled brightly and pulled away from me. I was immensely glad he'd gotten out of my personal bubble and rolled my eyes behind his back. Lizzie frowned at me, and he said something to her before he left. As soon as he was gone, Lizzie turned to me, mildly amused. "You know that if he knew who you were, there's a good chance he'd make you try out, right?" I nodded, none too amused with that particular prospect. Lizzie grinned at me then and reached up to ruffle my hair affectionately. "So, bro, are you going to try out?" Lizzie asked casually, mimicking the man who'd just left.

Naturally, I rolled my eyes at her. "Of course not. Do I look like Derek Venturi to you?" I quipped unthinkingly, holding up my hands. I would've proceeded with my best Derek impersonation had I not been watching Lizzie. Lizzie's face fell, and I immediately regretted what I had said. I was worried she'd turn all weird on me again, like she had before when we'd faced off. She wasn't like that, though.

Her smile stayed on her face, a bit sadder, a bit smaller, but still there. Her eyes brightened up a little, and she looked at me seriously in silence for quite a while. She cocked her head, as if considering it. I hadn't meant the question to be taken seriously, nor had I expected an answer from her. It was a flip, sardonic comment at my own expense. She surprised me as usual, though. She was strangely contemplative, pensive even as she smiled at me a bit dreamily. "Sometimes," she told me with a frankness that stunned me into speechlessness.

Then Lizzie just brushed it off, as if she'd said nothing remotely controversial at all, and she laughed and ruffled my hair yet again, making a face at me. "I was right, wasn't I? I told you he was pretty cute," Lizzie remarked authoritatively. I grimaced. It would almost be better if she had a thing for him... almost. She nudged me in the side playfully, shooting me a conspiring look. "He seemed pretty interested in you too, didn't he? A little _too_ interested, maybe," she replied suggestively. I narrowed my eyes at her implication.

Him coming on to me did seem a hell of a lot more probable than him actually thinking I was a great hockey player, sadly enough. She batted her eyelashes mockingly in an attempt to convey his enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes at her. "Whatever. Doesn't matter. You know those rumors about me aren't true anyways," I said brusquely in an attempt to move past the comment. I was referring to the rumors about me being homosexual, information she could contradict easily.

She nodded brightly, quirking a smile. "Damn straight. After all, I've got _first-hand_ knowledge of that fact, now don't I?" she asserted cheerily. Her cheeks were still flushed from exercise, though she was no longer winded. Her eyes were bright like amber. She made for a pretty picture. I blinked as her words sunk in a little too slow. If I didn't know Lizzie better, I'd say she was flirting with me. Was she? What with the implication and the way she touched my arm afterward, sort of hesitantly... Okay, even I realize how ridiculous that sounds, but there's definitely something to it.

I was reeling from that comment, but I managed to stammer a response. "Yes, you most definitely do." It came out a bit more breathless and sarcastic than I'd intended. Liz stopped cold and turned around to give me a strange look. We'd both been skating towards the exit. I sucked in a shallow breath and opened my mouth, forcing myself to ask the question. "So, now that you bring it up... about this morning..." I trailed off expectantly, but Lizzie just looked back at me, clearly waiting for me to say something else. I sighed, still frustrated. Somehow I doubted saying something like "you basically gave me a hand-job" would go over well. I cleared my throat, wondering how best to phrase it. "What the hell was that, exactly? I didn't know we were that _friendly_, Liz," I muttered a bit hostilely.

She gave me a look, climbing out of the rink, and I couldn't help but follow. She shrugged and turned around, seating herself on the bench. "What? You didn't think I was never going to get you back, did you?" she rejoined nonchalantly, glancing up at me as she started to remove her skates. I could only gape at her, realizing what event she was referencing. Liz rolled her eyes at the look on my face. "You know, for what you did to me that night at the dinner table? I had the opportunity to make you feel just as embarrassed. I wasn't going to pass it up," she declared very matter-of-factly, taking off one skate and then starting on the next. Annoyance flashed warningly in her eyes.

If I hadn't already dropped my jaw, I would've done so then. I didn't think my jaw could open any wider, but somehow it did. She messed with me just because she had an opening? It seems so... cruel. Her memory's a lot longer than I thought it was. And, really, Liz, you waited all these years to do it? Her tone made me bristle, too, because she'd more than gotten me back for that incident. She's gotten me back every time she's gotten me all wound up only to have nothing come of it. Every time she's mistaken me for Derek. Every time she's done something to confuse me, like kiss me on the mouth or touch me in ways that definitely aren't appropriate. Every time she's driven me completely crazy without knowing it. Do I really need to mention the massage incident?

It's not fair because I didn't torment her like this. I didn't do it again and again. I didn't test her self-control. A lesser man would've done more... and a better man would've done less. I fought to keep the anger out of my voice, but I probably wasn't too successful. I slapped the protective coverings over the blades of my ice skates furiously, trying to calm myself down. Almost immediately after, I stood up, pissed, needing to move. "That was years ago, Liz, and at least you-" I snapped, stopping cold as soon as I realized what was going to follow those words. At least you _got off_, I wanted to snarl. At least you got some relief for the tension. At least you got satisfied. At least you're not a guy so everyone doesn't know when you're turned on.

She stared at me expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest. She motioned for me to continue, and when I didn't, she took that opportunity to speak. "What, Edwin? Are you actually mad about it?" she spoke incredulously, as if the idea that I could be annoyed with her for copping a feel and then failing to follow through ON PURPOSE was actually that ridiculous. It was so far from ridiculous; she had no idea. I scowled at her evenly. I'm not just mad; I'm furious! Half of me wants to throttle her! I've certainly got plenty of reason: her playing me and her using me as a model for my brother. I'd like to see her so wound up and so sexually frustrated that she's seriously ready to rub herself against a wall just to end the torment and finally find that effing release. I shouldn't have to take so many damn cold showers. I shouldn't have to pretend all the time that I'm not turned on.

In the name of Science, I really need to get laid. I could scream for hours. "Of **course** I'm mad, Liz! You're just as bad as Tanya, only she's actually attracted to me! You can't go around messing with _me_ because my brother's not available. It doesn't work that way," I growled, getting up close and in her face. I won't stand for it anymore. Ugh, she's such a tease, and it's killing me. She coolly removed the other ice skate, sliding covers over the blades. She then proceeded to give me a look that could've frozen Lake Ontario solid. She started removing her hockey clothing hastily, as if she was in a hurry to get out of there and, worse, avoid the conversation I'd forced her into having.

I made sure to get in her way, slamming the locker she'd used shut, falling directly in her line of sight. I was trying my damnedest not to watch her strip, but I couldn't resist and snuck a peek or two when she wasn't looking. My starved eyes lingered on her body a little more than is proper or acceptable for one's brother. She glowered at me, her eyes managing to convey a heat that made my blood boil and bubble in my veins. "For the **last** time, I never said I wasn't attracted to you, Edwin!" she muttered through clenched teeth. So, does that mean you are? She'd apparently taken the comparison to Tanya to heart, at any rate. She pulled her shirt over her head angrily, and the flash I'd gotten of her bra (red and lacy and sexy and not at all of the practical sporting variety! Like she was planning to get lucky with my brother or something when she'd woken up with me! The nerve!) and toned abdominal muscles ingrained itself in my head. "And you said you'd help me with Derek," she continued a moment later, clearly faltering. Her voice weakened a little as emotion crept into her tone. I hated her for that just a little bit.

She knows I always give in when she gets all emotional like this... but not this time. Her eyes were becoming damp, filling with tears, but I tried my best to ignore it. I didn't look at her, and, as a result, I mostly missed her bending over, removing her hockey pants and socks, and tugging the jeans up over her too-long, creamy legs and her delicious hips. As I said, I missed _most_ of it; I was, after all, trying to prove a point. "I didn't realize that meant I was agreeing to serve as a test subject! Since when am I the crash test dummy for Operation: Seduce Derek? I don't like feeling used, Lizzie," I rejoined bitterly, not at all liking the feeling that had come over me. Of course I knew she'd just picked that argument because she couldn't think of a better one, but that didn't mean that it didn't make me feel guilty hearing her pleading voice, seeing those eyes so full of tears. I respect her, and I demand her respect in return. I deserve to be treated better than this.

The stare Liz fixed me with was dark and unlike almost anything I'd ever seen before from her. Her stare was oddly intent and personal; she was looking me right in the eyes without shame. "It's not always all about Derek!" she shouted, throwing down the padding in her hands. In my life, it always is. Then she marched over to me, slamming me against the locker with a force that took me aback. The look in her stormy eyes was intense and fierce, and for the first time in a significant period of time, I was a little afraid of her. Before I had any idea what she was doing, she grabbed me roughly by the collar of my jersey and pulled me to her.

Her lips crashed against mine hard, automatically opening in a way that was familiar. Her lips were soft, wet, and warm, and more experienced than I remembered. She pulled me in further, trying to devour me. This was no family kiss, no grandma kiss, no goddamned sister-kiss. It was a hungry, raw, needy kiss, equal parts desperation and frustration. She wanted to prove her point, and I could only kiss back as hard as I could, bruising her lips. My response was instinctive; I turned my head the right way, opened my mouth to hers, sucked and licked and did everything I could think of to do. I poured all of my frustration into the kiss, hands clenched into fists by my sides. I couldn't touch her any more than where our bodies brushed, or I knew I'd lose it completely and turn into a maniac. I wanted to drag my hands up and cup the sides of her face, pull her into me, but it seemed too romantic, too much like I was attached, like I was desperate for more. Naturally, I couldn't have that.

She pushed herself against me, leaning forward a little bit, onto her tiptoes, tightening her grip. Then, just like that, she pulled away and let go of me. I slid down the locker a little bit, feeling feverish and turned on. My lips were still wet, and she was still too close. The both of us were breathless. Lizzie sucked in a long breath, stared at me for what felt like an eternity as I caught my breath, and then backed away. Confusion flitted across her eyes, and she turned away from me briefly before slumping against the locker next to me. Our shoulders brushed, and that was almost too much.

Liz smoothed her hair half-heartedly, leaning her head against the locker. She drew in shaky breaths, smoothing her clothes with a frantic calm. My eyes were drawn to the heaving of her chest. Then her eyes closed, and she sighed deeply, putting her face in her hands. "_God_..." she moaned, drawing out the word, running her hands down her face and over her eyes. I soaked up her pronunciation of the word; my eyes closed briefly to savor it. She exhaled and didn't look at me at first. "I'm attracted to you, okay?" Liz snapped, zipping and buttoning her jeans with one hand. I stared, openmouthed and still breathless, torn between watching her lips purse and open, still red from that kiss, and watching the precise, quick movements of her hand. I caught a flash of her underwear, and the jerky movements of her hand brought up graphic mental images of the many ways she could put that hand to better use. On me. I swallowed hard. Her voice was strange and almost stilted. She turned to look at me a moment later; her gaze was fixed and steely. "You can't say I'm not."

It was all I could do to remain upright, really, and not fall over from the shock of it all. I didn't particularly feel like saying anything, even if I could think of something that didn't involve anything remotely sexual. I let out a whoosh of breath, unable to believe what had just happened. It felt like one of my dreams in that I didn't immediately feel guilty. When I was able to look at Lizzie again, she was covering her face, and I realized slowly that she was embarrassed. When she noticed my stare, Lizzie pulled her hands away from her face and smiled half-heartedly. "I... I'm sorry, Edwin. I was just so... frustrated... with you, with everything... I really don't know what came over me," she said quietly, clearly mortified. I was surprised at the disappointment I felt. A feeling vaguely like hurt crept over me too, and I didn't like it one bit.

I offered a weak smile in return and started removing my hockey gear very, very slowly, lest she see just how painfully, horribly turned on I was. "It's fine, Lizzie," I replied in a strained voice, hoping she didn't notice how my fingers were kind of shaking. My voice had almost just cracked, as pathetic as that is. She gave me an unsure look, but I kept up my fake, pained smile. "Let's just... forget about the whole thing," I said, knowing it'd cheer her up. Sure enough, she brightened up substantially. Then we both turned around and continued dressing and undressing, as if nothing had happened. I begged off for a shower and left to let the cold water run over my sore muscles. Liz was a hurry, so I didn't get quite enough time under the water, but I managed to push the dissatisfied feelings away to go.

We made a tacit agreement never to speak of any of those events again. We'd made many an agreement like that, but it wasn't satisfying. I felt strange, as if I'd lost something? I don't even know.

All I know is... how the hell am I supposed to act normal, to pretend like nothing's happened, when it feels like my whole world's just flipped its axis? The whole damn orbital is still wobbly.

Loren ;*

Anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated. Hint. Hope you liked the chapter.

Oh, and the next chapter features the lovely entrance of Marti's crazy boyfriend, who was alluded to in an earlier chapter, the first official appearance of little Sebastian, a bet, and Edwin proceeding to lose his mind just a little bit more. I promise it's more interesting than it sounds. It's pretty funny, in my opinion. But I'm biased.


	9. Pressure

Secret confession time: Um, so I've kind of always secretly wanted to write one of those awesome/funny/realistic/sarcastic Derek-Casey banter fics. Only I can't. Like, I don't think that's humanly possible for me. I'm a drama kind of girl. So they're just... nastier to each other in mine. I write stories that are slightly twisted, mega messed up... With unresolved sexual tension. That's just me. But anyways, I wish I could write that kind of Derek/Casey fic. But can I? Probably not.

Speaking of the slightly messed-up Derek and Casey relationship, in this fic in particular, you get to see a bit more of that in the chapter after this one. Derek says some things, and Edwin says some things... And the chapter's a lot more about Derek than I realized, but Edwin's kind of slowly figuring things out. Anyways, I really like it because I like the Derek/Edwin conversation, almost like they're brothers minus the hostility, and Derek's slightly great, and Derek comes off as kind of ambiguous, which is always interesting.

Okay, so there's a bit more hockey action in this chapter, but unfortunately it's not descriptive. As I assume most of my readers are female, I doubt that the majority of you would like that... although, hey, I like male aggression on ice, so who knows, maybe you're like me? But, actually, no, I was just like, damn, this chapter's so long, and I'm tired, and I have not seen enough hockey games to do it justice (not that I've let that stop me from ever writing anything, not doing or not seeing)... But yeah, so I'm kind of not-so-secretly enthralled by hockey. Like, okay, I was looking at pictures of players on my team here, because I think it's really cool to live in a city that has its own hockey team (by which I mean NHL, of course). And a couple of them were cute. Hot. Whatever. So, let me just say, I finally understand why everyone's walking around in Ovechkin shirts. Well... I think it's cool to live in a city with a hockey team except when I get stuck in Hockey Traffic on the Metro. Which happens. A lot. You can tell because there's a bunch of people in red and jerseys. It's also kind of a personal goal of mine to go to one of their games, especially since they're, like, good and everything... But, being a broke student... *sigh*

This chapter is also a lot longer than I realized. Oy. But, anyway, you get to see a bit more of their homelife. Marti, her crazy boyfriend (who is an amalgam of two somewhat unpleasant people I know, one of them cocky, the other one mental), and Sebastian. You also get to see more of what people think of Liz and Ed, some of Ed's Derek complex, and the competitive nature of Ed and Lizzie's relationship. Oh, and finally the potential of a non-Lizzie love-interest for Ed! Aren't we happy?

Enjoy!

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**Pressure:** 1. The force applied to a surface per unit area. 2. A compelling force and/or influence on a person exerted by an individual or group to get that person to conform to social norms.

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I'm a scientist by nature. I thrive on data analysis: pure facts, numbers, statistics, graphs, and equations. So it's understandable that nothing bothers me more than a problem I can't solve. Unfortunately, I can't figure out what's going on with Lizzie lately. I know her better than anyone, but she's been acting so out of character lately. Her behavior doesn't fit into any pattern; I can't categorize it. Worse still, I've got conflicting data. Then the problem becomes how to interpret the behavior, examining it, weighing it to discover what it means, and even then it's still sort of subjective and ambiguous. I like clear answers like yes and no, true or false, black or white, valid or not.

Girls, all girls, not just Lizzie, are like protein sequences. They're intricate, impossibly complex, twisting and twining and all wound up, and, of course, vital to survival. The problem is, of course, what happens when you misinterpret the sequence or get the structure wrong, and then you're dealing with an entirely different protein. There are some times when she's the girl I know, but other times she's a completely different person. It's tiring trying to anticipate her behavior; I can't prepare myself for her anymore.

Okay, I'll admit it. She _kissed_ me yesterday, and I can't forget it like I told her I would. It's seared into my memory like a brand. It keeps plaguing my thoughts, and I'm already stretched too thin as it is. What does it mean? That's the question that keeps me awake at night. Other, more physically painful thoughts keep me awake at night too, but that's nothing new. I slept restlessly last night and woke up a little late, feeling groggy like someone hit me with a truck. A cold shower woke me up, chilling me down to my aching bones. I'd overdone it a little yesterday. This whole cold shower thing is starting to become a habit with me.

As I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, I was greeted with the sight of the typical McDonald-Venturi breakfast time, which is everyone running around, doing their own thing. Dad was eating oatmeal, hastily flipping through case files and shoving them into his briefcase. Lizzie was eating a bowl of cereal and reading one of her environmentally-conscious journals. Eggs were starting to burn on the stove. Marti was still upstairs, either getting ready or sleeping. Nora was chasing around an overly-active Sebastian, following him in and out of the laundry room, kitchen, and basement.

I walked over to the stove, turning off the eggs and starting to put some on a plate for myself. I grabbed another plate and set it beside the eggs for Marti, when she woke up. I crossed the kitchen, plate in hand, grabbing a fork on my way, and I had just planted myself on the seat next to Lizzie when we received a most unpleasant surprise. An unwanted visitor just waltzed in our back door. I blame Dad because we're always telling him to lock it so C won't escape, but he never remembers. Of course, in comes Marti's uninvited, unwelcome, and unwanted boyfriend, Morgan Davids. He has a nasty habit of dropping in like that.

Derek has never met Morgan, as Marti's taken pains to insure that will never happen. This is because Derek will kill him on sight. The rest of the family hates him just as much, myself included. We've all tried to talk her out of it, but Marti seems to have inherited the family stubbornness. Once she's got her mind set on something, you can't change it. She has to change it for herself, and unfortunately, her taste in boyfriends is not even remotely like her choice of a favorite color.

One might wonder just why, perhaps, we all hate this individual, and, why if no one likes him, she's still allowed to go out with him. For starters, Nora and George have their hands full and have never been able to effectively enforce the rules, especially on Marti. She thinks she's an exception like Derek. Secondly, my sweet little sister is slightly... crazy... and rebellious... and a little too mature for her age. George and Nora pretend they're okay with it, though, but their smiles are always a little more strained when he's around.

As usual, upon seeing him, I wanted to punch him in the face, but unfortunately cooler heads prevailed. Liz gave me a look, and I backed down a little bit. I wanted to punch him for many other reasons than just him having the nerve to think he can date my younger sister. It's not that I merely find him unsuitable; I just can't stand him. If this means anything, I would rather see Lizzie with Derek than have this boy-man anywhere near my family.

He is easily the _most_ annoying person I have ever met in my almost eighteen years of existence. First of all, he's my age, a little older even, and he's in college or university or working. Clearly he has no right to mess around with girls like my sister because he's encroaching on pedophile territory. Actually, he's not encroaching; he _is_ pretty much a pedophile since Marti's thirteen. The age of consent here is fourteen, last time I checked, but I seriously doubt he's having sex with my sister (and, honestly, if anyone had reason to suspect this, he'd be in a hospital or prison faster than you can say Derek). He's shorter than me but more muscular, and he's got a swarthy complexion. The real problem is that you can't automatically tell he's a creep. He looks and seems normal, but then you realize soon enough how much of an asshole he is.

Morgan won't ever shut up. He talks at full volume all the time, and he's prone to yelling. He laughs like a damn hyena. What really gets on my nerves is how he tries to boss people around, tell them what to do, even my sister, who doesn't give him as much trouble for it as she should. He thinks he's your best friend, too, no matter how thinly-veiled your hatred is. To make matters worse, he's a really physical person, and he'll just hug you randomly for no reason or surprise you with some other form of unwanted physical contact. He's always the unwanted guest.

There's something wrong with him personality-wise because the longer you're around him, the more you get the sense he should be on pills to regulate his mood. He's manic, impatient, too excited, capricious, and completely not self-aware. The boy changes his mind at the drop of a hat, and his moods pass like seasons, violent and hot and cold. He's got a temper, too; he's altogether too prone to getting angry at perceived insults or situations he doesn't like. I worry sometimes that he'll get into a fight with one of us, and he'll hit someone maybe.

As if all of that wasn't bad enough, he thinks he's so clever. He's in love with the idea of himself, and he clings to his pride like a life jacket. With a raft of self-pity and self-adulation like that, he'll never sink or drown in the depths of despair, though he might like to think he's headed that way. He's got this unwarranted sense of superiority (because he's _really_ not that great), and he goes through life being an asshole and never really realizing it. He's a total drama queen, too, worse than Casey ever was or has been, even at her most hysterical; I swear, he's the world's biggest baby. These are definitely delusions of grandeur, my friend. His sense of self is so inflated that I'm sure he thinks he's only a step down from God himself.

He's a smart-ass too, and he makes these nasty little snide comments, mocking others when he himself can't stand the heat. You say one wrong thing to him, and he becomes sullen, silent, and petulant like a little kid. He makes situations more awkward than they should be. His ego is really the worst thing, though. I grew up with Derek, and I still can't believe the depth's of Morgan's self-obsession. Lizzie dislikes him even more because he flirts with every girl he meets. She views his affections as inconstant. In fact, he first came to our house to stalk Lizzie (who turned him down brutally), but then he met Marti, who was much more receptive to his charms and much more accepting of his many irregularities.

Obviously, I don't understand what my sister sees in this winner. He's decent-looking, I suppose, remotely intelligent, and I guess one could call his insanity... interesting. His only real virtue is generosity and the fact that apparently he has good enough breeding to open doors for women. He's loyal like a dog, true, but he's only generous because he needs to buy friends. He's mellowed a bit thanks to Marti but not near enough. There are many more reasons besides the ones already listed that he is the most annoying person on the face of the earth, but I don't have time to enumerate all of them.

"Hey, Gang! Where's my girlfriend at?" He demanded cheerfully. I rolled my eyes at him, looking at Lizzie and stabbing my eggs. I hate the way he always stresses _girlfriend_, draws every last letter out, which of course he does because he finally found someone who can be tricked into dating him. I shrugged apathetically, and Morgan plopped down next to me without warning and threw his arm around my shoulders warmly, squeezing me. "Hey, Eddie, my man, how are you?" I gave Lizzie a pained look; she patted me on the hand apologetically. I shrugged his arm off my shoulders abruptly.

At this moment, C and Nora came racing back into the kitchen. Lizzie got up languidly, still reading the journal, and wordlessly poured C a bowl of milk and Corn Pops, which she placed on the table. C, hellion that he is, raced to the table with glee and practically jumped up on it. Nora shot her a grateful look and headed downstairs to get dressed. During this time, I was studiously trying to ignore the annoying voice next to me, shoveling eggs into my mouth and chewing very, very slowly so I wouldn't be expected to talk to Morgan. Lizzie threw a spoon across the kitchen to C without looking, and C jumped up to catch it, gleefully babbling thanks to her.

She emptied her own bowl in the sink, rinsing it out. Dad, meanwhile, looked up and noticed Morgan sitting there. He jumped a good foot in the air and spilled oatmeal all over himself. Lizzie and I both hid our snickers, but Morgan was laughing uproariously, making fun of Dad (who deserves it), and braying like a donkey. Liz sat down next to me once again, as if sensing that I needed her calming presence. When Morgan's laughter finally died (though unfortunately he didn't choke or die with it), Lizzie turned to me, dropping her magazine on the counter.

There was a serious look on her face that soon curved into a smile. "Hey, Ed... I think I've got a wager for you," she said mysteriously. The smile she wore was a knowing one. I returned her grin wryly, knowing she had me hooked. I motioned impatiently for her to go on, lest Morgan elbow his way into our conversation.

She giggled prettily. "Remember Coach Anderson yesterday... and how badly he wanted you?" Liz drawled amusedly. Well, I remember how badly _I_ wanted you... Okay, Edwin, you don't want to think about that. Think hockey coach. I made a face at her but nodded anyway, and Lizzie's smile widened just a bit. The look in her eyes spoke of challenge, and I was fully ready to accept it. It's not in my nature to back down from a bet. "I bet you won't try out for the hockey team."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Of _course_ I'm not going to try out, Lizzie." I already made that mistake in middle school, and they rejected me as goalie for this Sasquatch kid. "You know that's your thing, not mine. If there's one place I don't belong, it's the hockey rink. That guy must've been smoking some of the wacky tobaccy," I remarked in between swallows, shaking my head.

She looked triumphant, and yet she frowned at me. Liz leaned in towards me conspiratorially. "I dare you to try out, Ed. Who knows? Maybe you'll make it," she said encouragingly, dropping her voice to a whisper. I gave her a dirty look and shook my head no hard. Her hand found my forearm and started rubbing the inside of my elbow subconsciously. It was a surprisingly intimate and comfortable touch. It set me on edge just a little. Her eyes were dark and a little bit pleading. "Come on, Ed. I already bet you won't do it. Do you want me to be right?" she persisted, egging me on little by little. Her voice had started to take on a bit of a whining tone.

Frankly, I didn't care if she was or not. It's not a bet if there's any certainty about it. Liz' eyes flashed dangerously, and she leaned still closer forward. Her chest just barely brushed against my arm. "Or, do you just not have any balls?" she hissed, voice dropping to something just barely above a snarl. Naturally, I bristled at that. I almost bared my teeth at her. Not only do I have balls, Liz, I've got blue balls! She could've taken it a step further with a Derek comparison but wisely refrained from doing so as a Derek comparison would've been even more of a reason for me not to do it. No matter how hard I try, in many ways, I will just never measure up to him. I can't compete. I sighed impatiently, silently giving in.

"So, what's the wager? What do I get if I do it?" And, Liz, it better be something more than satisfaction, though God knows I haven't been getting any of that lately. Liz paused with a slim finger on her lip, thinking it over. Morgan chose that moment to reach over and grab some of my eggs. I elbowed him in the ribs violently. I'm sick and tired of people taking things from me and imposing their will on me. I glowered at the interloper and turned back to Lizzie.

Finally, her eyes lit up. "Okay... If I win, and, trust me, I will... you do all my chores for the next week annnnd..." She trailed off here, trying her hardest to think of something embarrassing and emasculating. She opened her mouth to say something but then apparently thought better of it. A moment later, she grinned wickedly, and I knew I was in for some trouble. "You have to dress up like a girl and do a dance to a Spice Girls song. Not only that, but you have to film it and put it on YouTube. With your name in the credits," she proclaimed smugly. I groaned but knew I couldn't back out of the bet.

She'd just taunt me for having no balls if I did that, and I've got balls. I really don't want to try out for the hockey team, risking almost certain humiliation... but a video on the Internet of me dressed like a girl seems endlessly more humiliating and so much more widespread and permanent. So, basically, I have to do it, and all I could do was nod. Liz still had that self-satisfied smile on her face, and I knew she thought I wasn't going to go through with it. I had a burning desire to prove her wrong, and I was willing to try out for the hockey team to do it. Otherwise I'm just the boring, predictable Edwin she thinks she knows.

"And if _I_ win, I get to choose your next date and the outfit. Oh, and you have to set me up with the hot friend of my choosing," I drawled in that cocky voice I'd learned from Derek. I fully intend to win, but I really should've said something about forgetting her feelings for Derek. I held out my hand, and she took it and shook it firmly. Our handshake was more like a deathgrip, accompanied by an intense stare-off. The moment was broken when Marti came bounding down the stairs.

My little sister is a rambunctious burst of energy. She's a hydrogen bomb ready to blow. Like always, when she saw her boyfriend, she squealed like a dying pig and skipped over to him. "Morgan, Jujube! What a nice surprise! Are you gonna walk me to school?" she exclaimed brightly, practically bouncing up and down. She kissed her boyfriend a touch aggressively for my taste, and I cleared my throat loudly to separate them. Morgan gave me the evil eye, which I returned because his hands were starting to wander, and my baby sister was in his lap.

Marti was attired in her usual style: bright colors. She was wearing a black leather micro-miniskirt, which was so small that it looked like a belt to me, and I could practically see her brightly-colored lacy thong underwear peeking out from under it. I probably would have if she'd been a little more bent over. She had to pull the skirt down to cover her crotch. For means of a shirt, she wore a lacy little spaghetti-strap top that looked like lingerie and bared her pierced bellybutton (which had a rather vulgar, shiny ring in it). Over that, draped around her shoulders and belted around her waist was this gauzy purple robe that would definitely conjure up images of her bedroom. She wore combat boots on her feet; they were only practical thing she was wearing. Her make-up was her favorite glittery blue eye shadow and hot pink lipstick. Her hair this time was a tangled mess of wild curls.

As my brother, I felt like it was my duty to tell my sister to put some more clothes on, as Dad had cleaned up and then left, running late as usual. So I turned to Marti, who was engaged in an entirely sickening display of googly eyes with Morgan. I think I threw up in my mouth a little, but I managed to swallow it down and snap, "Marti, go back upstairs and get dressed. There's no way you're going out of the house dressed like that. I don't want people thinking my thirteen-year-old sister's a whore." Marti cocked an eyebrow and immediately started protesting, but I wasn't in the mood to let anyone argue with me.

I stood up, grabbing her arm forcibly and pulling her off of Morgan's lap, despite both of their protests. "You will put on something acceptable, Marti, or I'll pick out something for you to wear. And I _will_ pick out some of Derek's dirty clothes," I threatened, dragging her up the stairs. Marti huffed and puffed, but she ultimately did as I said when I pointed out that I hadn't yet given into the urge to kick her boyfriend's ass and would be only too glad to do so. Marti emerged from her room in skintight jeans, a sleeveless hot pink shirt that showed a little too much cleavage for my taste, and a sky blue cardigan I forced her to wear. I deemed that passable and followed her downstairs.

Morgan frowned upon seeing her, standing up from his seat. "Honeytart, what happened to your other outfit? I liked that one much better," he exclaimed disapprovingly. Yeah, whatever, Creepzilla, you just like it because it was easier for you to feel my sister up. Marti pouted and shot me a dirty look, walking up to Morgan and taking his arm.

"I'm sorry. _Edwin _made me change," Marti told him, once again glaring at me. I made a big show of rolling my eyes. Then Marti beamed at Morgan and took his hand to walk out of the door. A beautiful intervention came at that precise moment. C, bless his little brain, ran right over to Morgan and threw his milk on him. The kid's got a pretty good aim; he hit the bastard in the stomach, so it looked like he pissed his pants. Milk was running down his legs. Naturally, I started laughing hysterically, and Morgan was completely furious and reached out for C, who ran away, giggling maniacally.

Morgan swore and looked like he was about to damage some of our property (or punch me because I was still laughing), so I not so gently pushed him out of our home, locking the door so he couldn't get back in. I then informed Marti that either myself or Nora would be driving her to school. She ran upstairs, either in tears or pretending, and said she hated me and that she wasn't going to school. I dispatched Lizzie to go talk to her because she can at least pretend to have sympathy for that asshole, and I was hardly in the mood to coddle my sister and put up with yet another of her temper tantrums.

C ran back in the room and started jumping up and down when he noticed our unwanted guest was gone. I was doing the same on the inside. I grinned at him, ruffling his hair. "That's some aim you've got, kid," I told him warmly. I fumbled around in my pocket for some cash and pulled out two shiny quarters. I bent down and handed them to him. "Good job... Now, here, go buy yourself a gumball," I said benevolently. C looked up at me like he'd just won the lottery. His hazel eyes were so full of blind admiration that it surprised me.

Then he reached up and wrapped his tiny arms around my neck. "You're my favoritest big brother ever!" He exclaimed happily. I could just barely wrap my arms around him because I was so stunned. Sebastian and I have never been close. In fact, Lizzie's the only one of my siblings I'm really close to. Derek and I tolerate each other, but we're not really close because there's too much resentment and envy on my part. He made me his slave for most of my life, and even when he's not here, I'm living in his shadow. It's hard to have a big brother who's so larger than life. As for Marti and Sebastian, we've never been too close. My younger siblings have always preferred Derek (as has everyone I have ever met in my entire life, even Lizzie), and Casey was always so indifferent, so aloof, so unavailable. So I almost snorted when C said that like I don't see how his whole face lights up like that when Derek's even around.

Of course Lizzie walked in on this touching scene. She frowned at me, grabbing her coat and books. "Ed-_win, _you shouldn't encourage him!" she complained, walking over to us. She said my name in the same way that Casey said Derek's name, drawing out the second syllable, sounding a bit exasperated and frustrated. It made me smirk despite myself and let go of C with a noogie. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me. "You're incorrigible, Ed," she muttered, heading out the door. Marti soon followed her, and I gathered up my things and joined them out in the car.

Lizzie was already in the driver's seat. We dropped Marti off at school, but other than that, we rode in a companionable silence for most of the way. I feel like we've been more distant lately. Ordinarily we'd have been chatting about class or how funny it was what happened with Morgan, but we barely said a word to each other. When we got out of the car, we went our separate ways, and I could feel her drifting. I understand what Lizzie means now, how she was worried our relationship would be different as we got older. Only now I see the inevitability of it. We're not going to be as close when we get older. There'll be other people, and we'll have separate lives. I can feel it all starting now, though, and I don't like the feeling.

I'm supposed to distance myself from her... for me. I know that, but I don't want to. I can't not have any relationship with Lizzie. It has to be like this, and I really don't care what anyone else has to say about it because she's my best friend and my sister. I couldn't even imagine my life without her because it just sounds too horrible to think about to not have someone who's there for me all the time like she is.

The _rest _of the day passed relatively uneventfully compared to the past couple days. I slipped the stupid love note in Lizzie's locker, and as I was with her when she found it later, I was treated to a read aloud. Lizzie giggled over it, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, I guess I'm supposed to be flattered or something... but, really, this guy is just pathetic! He can't even get up the courage to tell it to my face. Seriously, Ed, how ridiculous is this?" she proclaimed, trying not to burst into hysterical laughter. It stung a little, but then I reminded myself that those were Jamie's sentiments, not mine. It hadn't been my dumb idea, and Jamie was a coward.

Liz looked at me, bemused, holding out the crumpled note. "Ed, do you have any idea who this is?" she asked casually. My heart raced unconsciously, but I snorted and waved it off.

"Yeah, sorry, Lizzie. I don't know anyone that lame, and I don't make it my priority to stalk your potential suitors," I remarked sarcastically, tossing the note back in her locker. Anymore, at least. Lizzie laughed and agreed with me. The irony is not only that I _do_ know someone that lame, but that he roped me into writing the damn thing. It's really a wonder she didn't recognize my handwriting. We were walking down the hallway together, on our way to Chemistry. Lizzie was asking me a lot of questions. There was a nervous look on her face, and her eyes darted. Her limbs were restless, and she looked really flustered, probably because we had a huge quiz that day.

We weren't really walking too close, but I guess an outsider might think we were. At any rate, I was trying to explain the entire concept of thermodynamics to her, so all of my attention was focused on Lizzie, communicating the concept in concrete terms, and walking. I didn't notice Michelle until Lizzie smacked me in the stomach; I whirled around and stopped dead in front of Michelle, who did not look pleased. Frankly, I thought she had a lot of nerve to be angry. "Oh, Edwin and Lizzie, together again. Why am I not surprised?" she retorted a bit bitterly. Her voice had a mocking lilt to it.

I noticed from the look that flashed in Lizzie's eyes that she remembered our previous conversation about Michelle. She looked like a bacteria about to get swallowed by a lymphocyte, so I had to speak for the both of us. "Do you realize how petty you're being? You're jealous of my sis-ter... when _you're_ the one who dumped me. It's not like I ever cheated on you... and I'm not even with Lizzie, but even if I was, it really wouldn't be any of your business," I pointed out somewhat irately. Lizzie looked upset and unnerved, and the way Michelle was glaring at her wasn't really making things any better. Michelle rolled her eyes at me.

"She must be real good in the sack for you to be completely wrapped around her finger like that," Michelle remarked cattily. The way she said it completely pissed me off because she said it like Lizzie didn't deserve such devotion. Coming from the woman who so carelessly dumped me well over a year ago, I don't really think she has the right to pass any such judgments. And I was pretty ticked off that she said we were sleeping together. I haven't slept with anyone in so long, I have half a mind to jump the next girl I see, and living with Liz only makes things worse.

If Lizzie hadn't been so affected at this display from her former friend, she might've slapped her. I certainly wanted to do something about it. "She's my sister, Michelle, and I'd do anything for her," I stated proudly, wrapping an arm around Lizzie instinctively. I barely glanced at Lizzie, but I looked long enough to notice her sunny smile aimed in my direction. "And she'll always come first in my life. Deal with it. Besides, you made it pretty damn clear you didn't want me earlier, so stop bitching about it," I continued sternly, glaring at her for all I was worth. Honestly, I didn't see what she had to be annoyed about or jealous of, for that matter. So what, Lizzie and I have a close relationship. We've always had that. Did Michelle expect I would be waiting for her or something? Even if she did, she shot me down before I could even get a word out. So why on Earth is she acting like this?

I'm not her property. Michelle was nonplussed with my bluntness. She merely crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at me exaggeratedly, as if I hadn't just made myself perfectly clear. With the way she talked about Lizzie, she's lucky I'm even talking to her right now. If a girl trashes my sister, she's not in my life anymore. Period. It's as simple as that. Lizzie's more important, end of story. She's my family and my best friend, and everything else just pales in comparison. Those girls, the insecure ones who can't accept it, are replaceable. I don't need or want them around. "Oh, _really_, Edwin? Now, tell me, do all stepbrothers look at their stepsisters like pieces of meat they want to devour, or is that just your family?" she rejoined swiftly, cocking a hand on her hip.

Now, I'm not the type of guy to hit anyone, much less a woman, but if Michelle was a guy, I would've definitely taken a swing at her. It wasn't just me she was insulting, after all, but my whole family. For a moment I wondered if Lizzie thought Michelle was referring to Derek looking at her like he wanted to devour her, but I tried to convince myself that Liz was far too sensible to consider a thought half as ridiculous as that. Of course, being in love with Derek makes my rational Lizzie completely ridiculous and nonsensical. Worst of all, though, Michelle's words seeped down to my bones, spreading the guilt I've been trying to force down and ignore, giving it new life.

Naturally, I was so furious with her that I was completely speechless. I couldn't even think up any single word to say, let alone defend myself properly. Michelle's eyes glittered maliciously, like flecks of ice, and I wondered how I'd ever considered her sweet. When we were going out, I always thought she was better than I deserved, that she was too good for me. I called her my angel (I was a cheesy, overly romantic sap when we started going out, and she was my first girlfriend. You do that math). Girls at that time were scarce more than mythological creatures to me, like unicorns or winged horses, to be admired but not really understood or believed in. Fortunately, I'm no longer that delusional. I was just so grateful she was going out with me that maybe I ignored all her faults... or maybe she's just become someone I can't even recognize anymore.

Swallowing down the bile that was slowly crawling up my throat, I shook my head in disgust. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. However, that didn't stop Michelle from continuing to insult us. "Why don't you tell me, Liz, you know, from one girl to another... when did it start? Did Edwin start _screwing_ you when we were still together? Or were you two together the whole time, and I was just his cover? Or did he actually have the class and the self-control to wait until we were broken up to go crawling to you? Do tell," Michelle spat poisonously. Lizzie said nothing. She just stood there, shell-shocked, blinking in disbelief.

Michelle scoffed and frowned mockingly. "What, Lizzie? You don't want to share? Funny... you've never had much of a problem with that before..." she taunted, coming closer to Liz. I gave Michelle a warning look, but the cocky twist of Michelle's lips said that she knew full well I could say nothing against her. I pulled Lizzie closer to my side instinctively, driven by the urge to protect her. Michelle rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Lizzie... Don't play dumb with me. I've seen the way he looks at you. I've seen how you two are when you're together. There's nothing brotherly or sisterly about it. Not when he touches you like he knows every _last_ inch of you... intimately, carnally... like a lover would. Like he's had you before. And that guilty look on his face just cements it for me," Michelle drawled scornfully. Her voice was dripping with disdain and a tinge of bitterness.

Poor Lizzie looked so completely uncomfortable and out of her element, almost like she was naked. She looked at me questioningly, but I looked away, lest Lizzie see something I didn't want her to see. She's still so innocent, despite everything. Besides, Michelle was right, in a way. I was fully conscious of the guilt etched into my features, and I had plenty of a reason to be guilty because I _did_ know what it was like. That was what I didn't want Lizzie to see. I... I couldn't look at her. Not after that. After all, I'd done just about everything with Lizzie, hadn't I? Everything short of crossing that one final line. I haven't actually had her, and all of that stuff happened when I was a kid. I would've done the same things with any other girl who let me. Michelle snorted, shooting me a knowing look. "Yeah, you know what I'm talking about, don't you, Edwin?"

Lizzie was mute, blinking, wide-eyed. She couldn't believe Michelle could possibly be so nasty. I opened my mouth to say something that would've been idiotic, but surprisingly Lizzie cleared her throat and cut me off, addressing Michelle stiffly. "Tell you what, Michelle... You're entirely right. I've been screwing Edwin since we first met. Remember that first time, Ed? I was nine; you were ten... It was in the bathroom at Pizza Hut," Lizzie recited almost a little bit dreamily, giving me a brief glance. My jaw had dropped in disbelief, but she was intent on the charade. I wondered idly if Michelle was dumb enough to believe any of that.

She smiled faux-sweetly. "But that's just how sick and twisted we are. Really, I couldn't resist. He's just so sexy... It's too much for me, really," Liz continued brightly, running a finger down my cheek and batting her eyelashes at me exaggeratedly. For a second there, I was almost convinced she was actually into me. Pity she's not, isn't it? She pointed at me, placing a hand on my shoulder possessively. "You know, this one's a real stallion in the sack. He really knows how to please me," she continued, dropping her voice an octave and giggling a little. To say that left me gobsmacked is most certainly an understatement. Michelle's face tightened up, her eyes became narrow slits. Her posture indicated her discomfort with the situation, but she said nothing. I could see the "Well, actually, I wouldn't know" fighting to come out, but Lizzie didn't give her an opening.

"And then on weekends we have family orgies. Derek and Casey come home, and we even get Sebastian and Marti in on the action. Because you got us, all right. We're nothing more than a family of incest-loving morally bankrupt sex fiends, and we love corrupting innocents. Why, just last week Casey had sex with my father on the kitchen table doggie-style while Derek watched and my mother gave Edwin a blow-job! Seriously, Michelle, you have no idea just how _messed_ up we really are. This is just the tip of the iceberg," Lizzie replied sarcastically in a cold deadpan voice. Amazingly, she said all of this with a straight face. As for me, I was immediately bombarded with some immensely disgusting mental images, and so I was preoccupied with not vomiting up my eggs. My mouth tasted like sulfur.

She was scary, and she was a force to behold, as usual, my sister. Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at Michelle, not intimidated, holding her head higher. Michelle's eyes were wide in shock that little pristine Lizzie had just thrown all of that ammo at her. She didn't realize it just then, but by voicing all of that, not only had she pointed out the ridiculousness of Michelle's insinuations, but she'd also taken away anything Michelle could say against her, by stripping her of the power to offend her. I couldn't help but smile at Lizzie, who was wearing her victory on her face.

Michelle stared at me blankly, looking to me for confirmation. I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction either way, and I didn't even bother to force a smile. Besides, the bell was about to ring. I grabbed Lizzie a bit too hard by the crook of her elbow, giving her a look, urging her on. "Look, Michelle, as fun as this is, we really have to go to science. See you 'round," I muttered shortly, quitting Michelle and dragging a deadweight Lizzie along with me. For a moment I wondered if her unwillingness to move was out of desire to settle things with Michelle or avoid the science test. A moment later, she pouted and whined a little bit, giving me my answer.

I shrugged helplessly and looked away immediately. Seeing that look on her face would doubtlessly cause me to give in and do something idiotic like skip class on a test day. "Liz, as much as I would love to help you... you can't get out of this. Now just quiet down and try to remember what I'm telling you, and you'll do fine. Okay, now, the main thing to remember is the first law of thermodynamics, or the law of conservation of mass and energy, which states that the total energy and mass in a system is constant. The energy or mass is just converted into another form or used up in the chemical reaction, but it does not just disappear. This means that a perpetual motion machine is impossible, which brings us to the second law of thermodynamics, which states that everything in a system tends to break down eventually or move to a lower energy level. The watchword here is entropy..." I explained hurriedly on our way to class.

Poor Lizzie looked rather terrified. She was walking at a snail's pace, struggling to keep all of the facts straight in her head. It was only my arm that was pulling her along. "Now, we went over the formulas already, so hopefully you know them... Um, remember that there's three ways to measure temperature... Celsius, Fahrenheit, and Kelvin. Kelvin is the scale of absolute zero, and the closer a molecule comes to absolute zero, the more the slows down. While reaching absolute zero is, at present, impossible, theoretically all motion would cease at this temperature. Heat and motion are, therefore, positively correlated. Generally, the hotter something gets, the faster its molecules are moving. This is why heat is often a catalyst," I continued lecturing breathlessly, hurrying along to our class.

"Oh, by the way, that was genius what you did back there. Michelle didn't know what hit her," I told Lizzie distractedly, flashing her a smile. Realizing that I was talking to her about something non-scientific, a wide smile stretched across Lizzie's face like the cat my youngest sister had always wanted. Noting her happy expression, I quickly looked away and resumed boring her to death out of necessity (for her sake, of course). "And you know about Joules and calories and the other measurements used, right? You remember the stoichiometry equations we learned at the beginning of the year for mole conversions, right? And the gas laws?" I continued questioning her. I could've totally blown her mind by talking about the fascinating thermodynamics of black holes, Hawkings radiation, and string-theory, but I didn't want to fill her mind with information that's mostly useless unless you're an astrophysicist.

Nevertheless, despite my best attempts, a panicked look spread across her face like a stain. "What? We have to know **all **of that?!" she exclaimed, completely horrified. I was equally worried for her. Please, _please_ tell me she remembers mole conversions. If she doesn't, she's completely screwed. Chemistry is all about mole conversions. We exchanged anxious looks, and I hoped I was wrong about it. Nevertheless, I fed her every formula I could. We slipped into the classroom and into our seats still talking. Fortunately there were two seats together at the very back of the class. The bell rang a moment later, but we were still talking.

I was, however, whispering formulas to her under my breath. Mr. Hennessey cleared his throat loudly. At that precise moment, I was whispering the formula for specific heat capacity in her ear, as well as the specific heat capacities we were supposed to have memorized. Being woefully underprepared, poor Lizzie had a very muddled idea of anything beyond the specific heat capacity of water. "Excuse me, Ms. McDonald and Edwin? I'm sure that whatever you're discussing is more important than my class or the impending quiz, but I suggest that you stop. There's plenty of time for making love in the outside world, but while I teach this class, that _particular_ kind of human chemistry has no place here," he remarked rather irritably. His voice was colder than usual, and it seemed to me that he was glaring at Lizzie more so than myself.

Mr. Hennessey likes me a lot. I think I'm one of his favorite students. He's the best chemistry teacher in the school... plus Casey and Derek's old science teacher specifically asked not to have either of us in her class. It's all right, though. She teaches biology or something or other. Unfortunately, Lizzie is not his favorite student because a. she's an athlete and b. he's not really interested in anyone who can't converse with him on subjects as diverse and mystical as chirality, neurochemistry, and Bose-Einstein condensates. This fascinates me but bores pretty much anyone else. Nevertheless, the two of us immediately stopped talking (or, rather, I stopped talking) and blushed furiously.

Being the one who was obviously whispering into her ear and also the one to whom the statement hit closer to home, I flushed a spectacular iron red. I'm sure a mass of blood rushed to my face, but, as I always say, better the face than the groin. Lizzie, however, was the one who spoke, as I was too shell-shocked, embarrassed, and tongue-tied to do much of anything. "Sorry, Mr. H. I asked him a question about specific heat capacity. Edwin was just answering it," she replied apologetically. She was wearing her best innocent face, but hard old Mr. Hennessey did not really buy it. A weaker or less crusty teacher might have, and a teacher who liked Lizzie, indeed, would have tolerated it and let it pass without incident.

Still, I turned to look at her in disbelief that she'd just told him that and had taken all the blame on herself. Didn't she see that Mr. Hennessey was always going to blame her more than me? I had wanted to shoulder the blame I deserved for this incident. However, as I opened my mouth to do so, someone from one of the rows in front of us snickered and made a snide comment that was loud enough for me to hear clear as quartz. "Yeah, specific heat all right! More like the specific heat capacity of her vagina!" The infidel rejoined viciously. Some asshat snickered at that and a couple people whispered. I won't say the disrespectful word he used to describe my dearest sister's... um, sexual organ that I do not need to be thinking about whatsoever.

Her cheeks were still tinged red, but I couldn't be sure if she'd heard the moron or not. I realized that we both looked pretty guilty, unconsciously, of course. My cheeks burned painfully, hot not just from my teacher's strange comment. At any rate, I sought out the fool with my eyes and glowered at him, and I would have punched him, had I not been in class. The comment had left me completely speechless. Miraculously enough, Mr. Hennessey did not punish Lizzie. He just rolled his eyes and started handing out tests. When he set our tests before us, he just shrugged and told her, "I guess I can't blame you. If the rest of this brain-dead class realized he was the smartest guy in here, I'm sure they'd have done the same thing. Let's hope he rubs off on you, Miss McDonald. Your grade could really use the boost."

Lizzie gaped at his back and looked at me, surprised. I was slightly mortified he'd brought up her grade like that, and I hoped I'd helped her even just a little. We hadn't studied together as much as we should have; the both of us had been busy and distracted lately. I shrugged modestly, scratching the back of my neck and averting my eyes. What he'd said had also immediately sent my mind straight to the gutter. Seriously, he just had to add that little comment about me rubbing off on her? Does he know how close to the truth he is? Liz nudged me with her shoulder. "Seriously, I think you're his favorite person. Think you could put in a good word for me?" she murmured, offering me a smile and starting in on her test with apprehension.

I nodded stiffly and nudged her back. "Of course... but, really, Miss McDonald, you should stop talking in class. They're going to think chemistry is our form of foreplay," I whispered back, imitating our teacher's voice a little. It wasn't exactly a sentence I was wholly comfortable saying, and I turned away, focusing on my test so as to not arouse suspicion or have to see her reaction to my words. I scribbled in my name, starting in on the problems immediately. The equations came to me like second nature, and I was busily completely question two when Liz elbowed me in the side.

Ouch. I barely stifled a grunt, rubbing my side distractedly. That had hurt, and with a single pointy elbow, she'd managed to derail my thought process. Lizzie leaned in a little closer than she should have. "Isn't chemistry everyone's form of foreplay, Ed?" she muttered in a breathy voice that managed to distract me even further. I opened my mouth to say something, but she had me there, and talking further would only serve to get us in trouble, so I shut my mouth and went back to my test. The problems flew by for me, easy as pi. Really, this was beginner's stuff (and I'm in Advanced Chemistry!). So, from time to time, I would gaze over at Lizzie to see how she was doing.

She bit down on her bottom lip frequently, and every time she did, I had to look away. Lips are the last things my libidinous mind and eyes need to linger on for long. Lizzie's fingers tugged on the ends of her hair, twirling a lock around her finger absentmindedly. Her brow was furrowed, and there was a very set look on her face. Every time I looked at her, I worried for her more and more. I even debated showing her my answers, neatly written in mechanical pencil, but she never asked or looked my way. Eventually, I couldn't keep staring at her without feeling like a creep with a capital C, so I quadruple-checked my answers and headed to the front to turn my test in to Mr. Hennessey, hoping against hope that he wouldn't make another comment that left me uncomfortable.

Fortunately, he didn't. He actually said he wanted to talk to me and left Shelbert in charge of the class because he seemed to be the most responsible one of us all (or, basically, the biggest tattle-tale in the class). Before following Mr. H out, I mouthed "good luck" to Lizzie and appointed someone to make sure Shelbert didn't break any more precious instruments. Mr. H was smiling at me, oddly enough. "You've been tutoring Miss McDonald, haven't you?" I nodded reluctantly, wondering what he was getting at with this. Was he going to ask me to stop? He nodded distractedly, a smile of fond memory on his lips. He gave me an eerie knowing look. "Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing you're doing... Now, are you just doing it because she's a pretty girl or is there some other reason for your scientific benevolence?" he asked shrewdly.

Well, there goes my hopes of not hearing another awkward Lizzie-related comment. I didn't realize I was grimacing until I corrected him. "Actually... it's not that at all. She's family. Lizzie's my sister," I told him factually, cringing on the inside. It's bothersome having to explain that to people, especially since it's common knowledge at school. Or it's supposed to be, at any rate.

Mr. Hennessey raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to hear this. He blinked, absorbing the fact, and then nodded slowly. He was still considering it, apparently. "But she doesn't have the same last name as you." He doesn't mention that she doesn't share my enthusiasm for Chemistry or that she's athletic and I'm not or even say that we don't look alike? We don't, really. Her hair's lighter than mine as are her eyes. Her face is round whereas mine is triangular. She's tan; I am not. I nodded equally slowly, wondering why we were outside, talking about Lizzie, of all people. I'd expected to hear about Curie or Faraday or someone famous, not get another unpleasant reminder of my somewhat unconventional relationship with my stepsister.

Why must I be punished for deviating from the norm? I sighed. "She's my stepsister, sir." He nodded, finally understanding, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I wanted to ask him what his point was, why he'd called me outside, the works, but that would've been impolite. Instead, I waited patiently for him to tell me what he wanted me for. He changed the subject immediately and began talking about the Science Fair, asking me if I had any ideas for it and the like. It was only too easy to get my mind all caught up in science. Honestly, it was better that way.

After at least ten minutes of conversation, Mr. Hennessey headed back inside and told me I had the rest of the period off (as most of the class hadn't yet finished the test). I wanted to go back inside and sit next to Lizzie, but I knew that would serve no purpose except to make her nervous. So I headed to the library instead and commenced researching some things for my potential Science Fair project. I also started writing another one of those stupid love notes Jamie insisted I write ("One a day, Edwin. And, yes, **every** day!"). When he said that, I wanted to punch him in the face and ask him why he wouldn't do it if it was such a big deal. Besides, he's the dramatic one, not me. He ought to be better with poetry and love notes. I mean, really, you'd think the guy would remember that girls never looked twice at me until I came to school a week late freshman year, very much whispered-about, and apparently deemed "hot and mysterious."

Speaking of which, I'd been concocting a prank to play on Jamie as a kind of revenge for annoying me so much with the persistent text messages and IMs. It was so hard to bite back the sarcastic retorts when talking to him, such as, "Why, yes, Jamie... I'll seduce Lizzie for you. Even though, you know, she's my sister... which of course naturally makes me the _best_ guy on the planet for the job. Because no one knows how to seduce a girl like her brother. But why on earth would I have a problem with that when I don't even like you? Although, really, I cannot be held responsible if she falls in love with me instead of you, and we both know that I'm clearly the more desirable prospect here... but if that happens, I might just steal her from you, only it wouldn't really be stealing, would it, because I'm doing all the work?"

Anyway, at present, the prank entailed leftover custard from lunch, rigging his locker, and perhaps some well-placed itching powder in his jock-strap. It's a multi-step plan, and it'll be brilliant when I'm done with it. Best thing of all, I've managed to make everything look like a complete accident, so no one will be able to trace it back to me. I realize that that's kind of the whole point of a prank, or at least my brother's pranks, but I prefer to think of it as karma intervening.

The rest of the day passed by relatively slowly. It was hard to go on acting like everything was normal when every fiber of my body was screaming that it wasn't. First of all, I was a complete nervous wreck. My nerves were unraveling and sparking like electrical wire with the covering removed, circuits shorting left and right, brain completely fried. Just thinking of the upcoming hockey tryouts made me want to vomit. To make matters worse, Lizzie was suddenly everywhere, smiling at me and looking grateful as hell, and I just started noticing every little snide comment and look more than I ever had before. Who knew there were so many? Had I always been this impervious, and why couldn't I go back to the bliss that is relative obliviousness? It was driving me absolutely crazy, so much so that I had to leave the table at lunch and splash some water on my face and tell myself to get it together.

Upon exiting Physics, I literally ran into Lizzie in the hallway. She grinned at me, knocking her shoulder against mine. "So, _bro_, made up your mind yet? You gonna do it, or am I about to taste the sweet, _sweet_ taste of victory?" she taunted, watching me carefully. Of course I was going to do it. There was never any doubt in my mind, and I hadn't lugged all of Derek's stupid, smelly old hockey gear with me for nothing. Apparently the determined expression on my face was answer enough for Lizzie, although I wanted to leave her in the dark so that she wouldn't know until I told her myself. Surprise flashed across her features, but she seemed to push the emotion aside quickly, and a genuine smile soon formed on her lips.

She squeezed my shoulder warmly and stopped, turning around to give me a half-embrace without thinking. People in the hallway glanced over at us, some of them unpleasantly, shaking their heads, others giving us knowing looks. I felt like they saw right through me to the awful, sister-lusting guy I really was, and I felt so dirty. Nevertheless, Lizzie's presence was enough to snap me back to reality just in time. "Good luck, Ed," she told me firmly, pulling away from me. There was a dark, slightly mischievous glimmer in her eyes. She laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're going to need it," she said forebodingly, leaning back in a second later to press an unexpected kiss to my cheek affectionately.

Her lips actually landed on the corner of my mouth. My skin burned white-hot like she'd branded it with a hot poker. I felt as if everyone had seen it and was judging me for it, and I'm sure I turned as red as Mars. Because of course that stupid little gesture drove me nuts, just like everything else she does nowadays. I wasn't prepared, not that I ever am prepared for these things, so of course I was going to overanalyze it. It was only natural for me to sexualize the mundane little gesture because it was just that, a little taste, and it's the little things that really drive a person mad. I wanted more; I burned for it.

The ambiguity of the gesture further confused me. It was unclear to me whether she meant to do that or whether it was an accident. Either way, I wanted to strangle her for it. I reached for her arm aggressively, but my fingers were too slow. Liz just smirked at me like she knew something I didn't. She didn't seem to give it much thought, not plagued as I was. She wiped the spot with her thumb and turned on her heel. There was a dangerous look in her eyes as she left, an almost predatory expression that reminded me unpleasantly of Derek, half of the many times he'd screwed me over and half of the way he used to look at Casey when she first came here. "Call me when you need a ride, Ed!" Liz called over her shoulder, waving at me distractedly.

There were more than a couple snickers, and I felt my face turn hotter than the sun, hotter than I ever thought physically possible. Is it Lizzie's goal in life to completely humiliate me? That's exactly what it feels like she's doing. It's bad enough that a significant portion of the school thinks we're sleeping together, but then she has to go around saying things like that... and that's not even mentioning her sexual torture. If I wasn't convinced that Lizzie had no idea what she's doing, I'd think she got off on tormenting me with ambiguous actions that never fail to turn me on. I groaned mostly inaudibly into my hand, as screaming in the middle of the hallway (what I really wanted to do) would've been even more ridiculous. Though, really, compared to Casey, Marti, and Derek, can anything I do even be considered ridiculous? I wanted to choke something.

The chicken, myself, Lizzie, Jamie, the goggling freshmen, Derek freaking Venturi... who can really tell at this point? It was only fitting, as I was going to completely choke in a few minutes and would soon wish I was dead. Understandably, I was slow to go to the gym, as I wanted to prolong not dying of embarrassment. The day had already been humiliating enough, but apparently I'm a glutton for punishment. Sometimes I really hate my life.

Frankly, I've never really understood how the hockey team practices as they've got to go to an ice rink instead of practicing at school. I should just say that first. Liz had done some reconnaissance for me, and apparently today they were in the gym after school. They're not always on the ice; sometimes they do typical conditioning in the weight room like reps, push-ups, sit-ups, laps, that sort of thing. Lizzie knows more about it than I do. I went to the gym like a lamb to the slaughter.

Predictably, when I got there, all of the hockey jocks were busy doing their exercises. I thanked a higher power that most of them hadn't even noticed me. The ones who had were diffident, figuring I had my reasons for being there. I was looking around like a lost puppy, as helpless as Lizzie in Chemistry, when Coach Anderson materialized out of nowhere, clamping a hand down on my shoulder and beaming at me. He had a big, manic grin that somewhat terrified me, although I would never admit it. "I had a feeling I'd be seeing you here, Kid. The call of hockey is damn near irresistible... Glad you could make it," he told me, sounding much more macho than he had the last time we spoke. It's like being in the gym (the odor of sweat? the testosterone in the air?) was pumping him up like anabolic steroids.

I nodded awkwardly, shrugging. "Well, I thought it over and..." I swallowed hard. "You were right," I forced myself to say, plastering a false smile across my lips. It hurt to smile. "You _were_ serious about me trying out, right?" I asked a moment later, _hoping_ he'd been lying to me. I was all too willing to turn on my heel and leave just like that if he said yes. Instead, Coach laughed and clapped me on the back hard enough to rattle me... as if I wasn't already rattled enough.

"Good one," he said, smiling, like I'd just told a joke when really I was completely serious. "You're in luck, too. One of our forwards pulled his Achilles' tendon over the weekend, so there's a position open for you... It's yours if you try out and work as hard as I know you can... Can you play Center?" Coach added a moment later, a wily look in his eyes. It was really all I could do to remain upright after that. For starters, this man was so ridiculously assured of my nonexistent (clearly a fluke) hockey talent and so desperate to have me on the team that he was overlooking everything. My knees almost gave out when he asked if I could play Center, though, because that was Derek's domain. Being a forward alone would be bad enough... I am not going to fill in those footsteps.

He shook his head, laughing heartily. "Who am I kidding? Of course you can, what with the way you went up against McDonald..." he continued, acting as if he'd made this great joke. I was mortified and pale as bleach, I'm sure. If Derek had been there, no doubt I would have been quaking in fear because, simply put, he would've kicked my ass for encroaching on his territory.

"Um, actually, no... anything but forward. Especially not center forward." Meaning, of course, that I would rather die than spectacularly fail the Venturi name. The _last_ thing I need is another reason to compare myself unfavorably to my brother. Coach's head whipped to face me as he gaped at me in utter disbelief. He thought he was offering me the position of a lifetime, of course, so he could not understand why on earth I wouldn't want it. He was offering me the chance to be top of the athletic food chain, and I was turning it down. He blinked, not comprehending.

By this point, some of the other guys had noticed me standing there, and, more importantly, they'd noticed that I was talking to their coach. So it's understandable, of course, that the meatheads were a bit threatened. A few particularly aggressive individuals stalked over to us, glaring at me. One of them was my old bully, Ronald, who had turned down the football team to become a jock on ice. Him, at least, I could understand. He was just trying to get out of his brother's monstrous shadow, like me. They directed a few questions at Coach, who completely missed the anger in their undertones, and answered cheerfully.

"What's he doing here? Why, he's here to try out for the team! He's a great player, guys. I know he'll be the perfect addition to our team," Coach assured them. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but it would've made a bad impression. And more than half the team already hated and/or resented me, so I needed to at least be pleasant so I could get out of this alive. They naturally voiced their complaints about it being too late for try-outs or new players. Coach waved this off because he's the ultimate authority, and it wasn't a concern.

The players scoffed and exchanged skeptical looks. My athletic ineptitude is that well-known. What people don't know is that I do have random athletic talents, such as running and holding my breath underwater for long periods of time. I've spent half my life running (mostly from Derek), so I like to think I've perfected it. If it wasn't for running, I'd probably be dead right now, in all honesty. "Coach, are you **crazy**? That pipsqueak would get our team clobbered. There's no way in hell we'd win the finals with him on our team! He can barely stay upright on ice!"

All of that is true, and it shames me. I had pointed this out to Coach Anderson myself, but he was not easily discouraged. In fact, Coach Anderson actually took up on my behalf and defended me. He squeezed my shoulder, and I felt uncomfortable. "I saw this guy on the ice with McDonald, who can kick most of your asses in hockey any day of the week. He was not only holding his own, but he was beating her and had her pinned to the ice, practically helpless, when I came over. I don't know many men who can boast of leaving Lizzie McDonald that way. At least, not any that are still alive," Coach countered sternly as if daring anyone to oppose him. He was referring to Tony, of course. I would have pointed out that he didn't know my brother, who wouldn't have even had to try to immobilize Lizzie because she would have thrown herself beneath him.

Of course he had to add that little tidbit about how I had her pinned to the ice. Of course! That elicited a few snickers and snide comments. "Oh, I bet it was easier than you think..." "Though it must've been hard for him..." Okay, I get it; you're making sex jokes about Lizzie and me. How original. Ha ha ha, you're so freaking hilarious I'm crying with tears of laughter. I scowled at them sullenly. I'm sure someone was just about to point out how I would've had a particular advantage with that, but Coach decreed a moment later that we were going to the rink so I could try out properly.

Just great. Not only do I get to be humiliated at school, but now they're transporting me somewhere else, to their own personal, private domain where my absolute mortification can be more even profound. No matter how hard I tried to protest that I really just practiced with Lizzie all the time and knew all of her moves and that she'd been distracted, Coach wouldn't hear it. The others, I could tell, found it more plausible than the idea of me as a real hockey player. Nevertheless, I got in the van anyway with my gear, and I found myself treated to all kinds of foul treatment, snarls in my ear, and unpleasant innuendos about my sister, whom, of course, I had to defend.

Defending Lizzie is practically my birthright, you know, and I'm the sensitive brother. Derek would've just punched the guy in the face or threatened to do so. He's much better at being physically intimidating than I am. I suited up in the practice room in silence. None of the other guys really wanted to talk to me, and, honestly, I didn't mind their ostracization. I ignored their jeers to the best of my ability about the nerve I had to try out for Derek's old position in what were, undoubtedly, his old practice clothes. There was even an old SJST jersey among them from a couple years back that fit me perfectly, despite my lack of Derek's physique and athletic ability. Didn't they think I was as completely aware of the inherent wrongness of my actions as they were?

Still, I was somewhat conflicted, as a part of me knew Derek would be proud of me for doing this. He would admire and respect the guts it took and my desire to win the bet. He'd also always secretly wanted me to be more like him. Yet I also knew that he'd be just as full of resentment for trying to take the one thing that was completely his away from him. He'd hate me for playing a sport I had no claim to, for not loving hockey as wholly as he did.

When I first got out on the ice, my head was still swirling with these thoughts. Let's just say that a skating rink isn't exactly the best place for them. Honestly, I never imagined I would make it this far, so the whole thing was kind of surreal. Surprisingly, I was remaining upright, but I was still a fish out of water on the ice. And then a whistle sounded, Coach told me some entirely unhelpful instructions, and I suddenly realized how much was riding on this. My "teammates" were vicious creatures. I skated forward on instinct, brandishing my stick for defensive purposes, but they knocked into me every time I advanced. It was terribly hard to get up with all of them clustered around me, so naturally, I was somewhat helpless as usual, like one of Marti's stuffed animals.

Eventually, though, I told myself I had no choice. It's a kill or be killed world. Hockey's like evolution; only the fit survive. Like life, hockey is one great struggle. Unlike life, hockey is a struggle for possession... And there was one thing I knew, and that was that doing this, playing hockey... it's in my genes, no matter how much I want to deny it. I assured myself that I knew how to do it because how many years had I practiced with Lizzie and Derek? How many games had I seen and watched on TV? I could do this. My confidence spiked a little, but I didn't get too much better... in reality, even a good player would've struggled with a whole hockey team trying their hardest to discourage him, to kill and maim him.

Coach looked a little off-put, but he kept encouraging me. "Come on, you can do this!" I fought the urge to roll my eyes and acknowledged silently during the brief time-out that, no, I very well could not. He frowned at me and asked me what was so different about last time. Aside from the obvious variable of Lizzie and her familiarity... there was the overwhelming lust I'd been feeling, but somehow I highly doubted that was it. "Just try and channel your feelings that day. Remember what it was that made you so unstoppable. Find that attitude again," Coach advised, and suddenly I appreciated him for it.

There I was, getting my ass kicked, on the receiving end of countless glares and jeers from my teammates, and he still had faith in me. When I didn't even have faith in myself. It also flicked a switch in my brain, and I remembered what had made that day so different. It was just like that day when I'd played with Dan and had scored so much... I had been so angry that I just couldn't take it anymore, and the gestures came to me second-nature. So I offered Coach Anderson a thanks and set about making up for my previous behavior.

Understandably, it wasn't too hard to find and channel anger into the game. It was easy enough to bring those repressed feelings to the surface. The sexual tension with Lizzie and how it seemed so deliberate and simultaneously frustrating, the way I felt like I was completely losing my mind, every nasty comment I'd overheard, the way the team had been treating me all practice, my resentment at Derek (and, for that matter, Casey), the argument I'd gotten in with my father, the constant annoyance that was Jamie... Oh, I had endless potential for rage, and once I just let go, I found it was easy to focus. I anticipated their moves, remembering things I'd seen or heard about. I ducked; I dodged; I bobbed and weaved; I sidestepped; I hip-checked.

I even managed a few full-on tackles (including Ronnie). I just charged through them, barreling through anyone in my way, swiping my stick at the tiniest flash of black. Only the feelings coursed through my brain; the beauty lay in the fact that I wasn't thinking at all, and it was a relief. It felt good to have a reason to push away and injure every jock who'd ever dared to mess with me or threaten me. Because even being the flesh-and-blood little brother to a hockey god, the brother and best friend of one of the most popular girls in school, and the younger stepbrother of a former overachieving drama queen class valedictorian who had certainly embarrassed herself worse in this place than I ever have... does not make me immune to bullying. They sure looked surprised that docile, nerdy, unfortunate, _weird_, how-the-freaking-hell-can-this-guy-be-related-to-The-Legendary-Derek-Venturi Edwin Venturi had it in him. Revenge of the Nerds... that's all I'm going to say.

Most of that try-out I don't remember because mentally, I was elsewhere. I was conquering and kicking ass and getting out all of my aggression. I wasn't being a victim... I wasn't being me, but some other Edwin, who wasn't such a pushover. A guy who wasn't always nice and sensitive but aggressive and furious and competitive and not someone to be trifled with... someone like Derek. I do remember the whistle blowing, though, and how I slowly came back to reality. I was almost soaked through with sweat, breathless like I'd just run a marathon, completely worn out and sore but riding high on a wave of adrenaline. I was probably bleeding from somewhere and most definitely bruised. My hair was sweaty and plastered to my head, and I was all too aware of the heavy gear I was wearing.

Unfortunately, I didn't just come to a slow stop. I fell over, a la Klutzilla, landing flat on my ass on the ice. Coach raced over to me, grinning like a fiend and exclaiming about how wonderful I was. "That was amazing. I don't think I've ever seen anyone move like that." I highly doubted that and felt like I was on the verge of throwing up. The other players were glaring daggers at me, and I noticed immediately how disheveled they looked. Had I done that? I blinked in confusion, trying to suck in more air. Coach Anderson forcibly clapped me on the back. "You're a fierce competitor, all right." He was giving the other players a smug, "I-told-you-so" look that they weren't entirely buying. "And that's why you have the position," he exclaimed pridefully.

If I want it, I added silently. I decided catching my breath would be a preferable option to voicing this opinion and having the team kill me for wasting their time. Plus, at that point, I felt like I would throw up if I opened my mouth. It took me a couple minutes on the bench and half a bottle of water for me to collect myself enough to even shake my head no to his inquiry. I took off my helmet and my skates and picked up my bag, removing my cellphone, and only then did I stand on unsteady legs.

And then I smirked a little, as best as I could, really, because I wasn't exactly feeling up to it and I'd already spent a portion of the day uncannily channeling my brother, which was more than enough for me. "Thanks for this, Coach. Really, it's been great... But I don't want it. Go find yourself a center forward who does," I told him decidedly. I knew what I was turning down: ultimate, supreme popularity, the girls (though I could already get any girl I wanted), the chance to follow in my brother's footsteps, the opportunity to be taken seriously, the ability to be prized for something not having to do with my mind... but was it worth it? No, all of it was empty to me, and I didn't want this kind of life. I don't want to be Derek. I want to be myself, and I want people to accept me for me, to love me, just me.

To say that Coach's jaw dropped was a definite understatement. He looked like the ice had swallowed him up; the idea was that incomprehensible to him. Needless to say, the natives were not happy because they assumed that I was mocking them by, I don't know, being a better player than them and then turning it down. "Then why the hell did you try out?" Ron ejaculated, rather upset in addition to being tired. I may have knocked him down three times, so his frustration was slightly warranted until you consider that he'd knocked me down at least five times and had bullied me much longer.

I shrugged and then smirked in a very Derek-like way. "Actually, I just won a bet. My sister didn't think I would do this... thought it'd be too humiliating. Well, you know what, it wasn't that bad. Nice game, guys," I told them rather smugly. Knowing that I had skills, I was significantly less terrified of them. The whole team, or at least the majority probably wished I was dead at that point. I can't say I blame them.

Coach turned on me, eyes pleading. It was almost a little pathetic. Who knew grown men get so upset over hockey? "Please... is there any way I can convince you to stay? You're the best player I've tried out all year, and we really need a good center forward to go to finals this year. Our team hasn't been doing very well the past couple of years, and the parents really aren't thrilled. They've threatened to cut our funding... Please stay," Coach Anderson practically begged. I gaped at him in sheer disbelief. My presence does not make or break a team.

Then I blinked, still unable to believe this. I still refused, though, a moment later. "Look, I'm sorry, Coach, for wasting your time... But I told you. Hockey, it's not my thing. It's my brother's thing... I'm not this guy. I'm not your center forward. Trust me," I told him as apologetically as I could while still being firm. I wasn't about to be guilted into playing hockey. For a moment, I debated whether or not I should tell Lizzie that I made the team. No, I decided quickly enough; he was probably exaggerating, and they didn't even need me anyway.

Silly me, I'd forgotten that I'd mentioned my brother out-loud in that sentence. Coach Anderson blinked and looked confused, and that was the first question he asked. "But who's his brother?" I turned on my heel and started to exit, feeling very happy to get out of there. It would be great to be somewhere where my mere presence wasn't despised. I flinched a little upon hearing the question but stepped up my pace, hoping they'd answer after I was out of the room.

I could only imagine the incredulous looks behind me. I think I heard gasps, but I pointed ignored them and kept on walking. "Are you kidding me? How the hell do you not know this?" someone exclaimed. Um, maybe because he's a complete noob? Coach Anderson protested his ignorance and repeated his question, and someone took pity on him. "His brother just so happens to be the infamous Derek Venturi." He paused, hoping that Dick would catch on, but he had unbelievably never even heard of Derek. "How do you **not** know who Derek Venturi is? He was the best center forward Sir John Sparrow Thompson High ever had. He made captain his freshman year and led us to four championships. And now he's the star player at Western. He's being scouted by the Knights!"

Idly, I wondered how random boy knew that last tidbit. I hadn't even known that until Derek told me himself. Coach Anderson took all of this in in relative disbelief, but he wasn't so surprised. He'd merely assumed I'd inherited Derek's skill. Ha. I bit back the comment about how pro teams were scouting Derek because I didn't feel at liberty to share that juicy little tidbit before he'd even made the draft yet. Seriously, though, I'm pretty sure there are pictures of Derek around here. Lassiter and teachers obviously still remember him. I assume the same kid just gestured after me because he raised his voice and said, "And that kid's his little brother!"

That made me grind my teeth. Thank you so much for reducing me to the little Venturi. I really enjoy being called Derek Junior. Yeah, I'm not fourteen anymore, and that's not a compliment. "Well, then obviously it runs in the family. I don't know why all of you seem so opposed to the possibility of him being on the team... He's a good player, and he tried out the same as you did. Maybe he doesn't want to be on the team because none of you even gave him a chance!" Coach protested somewhat irritably. A strangled noise came out of my throat. Great, just another reason for them to dislike me.

Finally, they were forced to answer these comments. They told him how they resented that I was an exception to the rules, that I was practically given a free pass onto the team. They told him how I had never been very good at hockey or seemed to like it that much, that I wasn't like my brother. I just kept walking, hoping I wouldn't have to hear it. "Okay, fine, if you think that way, then how do you explain his playing? How do you explain him getting the best of McDonald?" Coach Anderson persisted.

"Well, the fact that he's her brother... or boyfriend or... whatever... might have something to do with it," a smart-ass countered sarcastically. I stiffened and froze mid-step, hit by the allegations I felt like I'd been running from all day. I would have turned and glowered, had I not been trying to stealthily exit. Boyfriend? People think I'm Lizzie's _boyfriend_? There is a big difference between brother and boyfriend, and, trust me, I know it well. Hell, I was never Lizzie's boyfriend, not even when we were, um... Now is really not the time to think about that summer in my life. Makes me feel like an awkward fourteen-year-old all over again.

Worse still, it was easy enough for Coach Anderson to buy this, given how he'd found us piled on top of each other. At this point, I believe someone called my name to say something to me, confirm something... I don't entirely remember, but I was pissed. So I turned on my heel, forcing a grin, camouflaging my irritation. "As much as I'd love to stay and talk about my various family members or hear people talk about me like I'm not in a room... My _sister's_ waiting on me. And before any of you dimwits makes another comment about her, remember that that brother and sister I've got can kick your asses in and off the rink any day of the week. And, apparently, so can I... See you," I practically growled, channeling Derek's aloof, screw-you attitude. Then I whirled around and exited the rink as quickly as possible.

Luckily, Lizzie was waiting out front, the Prince idling in the parking lot. When I approached the car, she rolled down the window and looked me over. Then she drew back, waving her hand in front of her face. "Ew, Edwin, you smell like a barrel of rotting fish and gym locker! Seriously, it's worse than your crusty old gym socks... Ugh. Eau de hockey player... you know, I really thought I was done with that odor when I broke up with Tony but apparently not. This is almost as bad as when you wore that one shirt for a month solid back in fourth grade," she ranted, wrinkling her nose at me. I scowled, remembering how she'd disowned me in the hallway. So sue me, it was a lucky shirt, and I didn't much care for washing back then. Besides, Derek wanted me to wear it, and I was his minion back in those days, thoughtlessly doing whatever he bid me to do. Sometimes I hate that she remembers everything; it gives her endless blackmail potential.

She eyed me speculatively, crossing her arms over her chest. "I may not even let you in the car, Edwin Venturi. You'll just stink it all up, and then I'll be forced into a confined space with your terrible B.O." she continued somewhat primly. I rolled my eyes at her, seeing it for the farce it was. The Prince already had a particular scent unique to it, in addition to possessing its own ecosystem, no matter how much or how hard we cleaned it. Sometimes I thought it was a wonder the car was still running; the Prince had never been a particularly great model, especially since it's over twenty years old. Therefore, I wasted barely a moment in walking around the car, pulling open the door, throwing my stuff in, and seating myself. Fortunately, Lizzie had unlocked the door. She made a face at me goodnaturedly, sighing and throwing her hands in the air as I fastened my seatbelt. "Fine! Come in! But I'm rolling the windows down!"

I smirked at her attitude. Lizzie's ability to joke with me is one of the qualities I like the most about her. We're scarily in sync sometimes, and she can finish my sentences and play the game just as well as me. Surprisingly, a lot of girls have difficulty talking to me. This faux reputation seems to precede me for whatever reason. Anyway, I didn't say anything at first, silently and eagerly waiting for Lizzie to crack and ask me what had happened. The longer I remained silent, the more I knew it would torment her, and I relished in tormenting her for a change. Finally, she exhaled, exasperated. "Jeez, did they run you out of there before you could shower?" Liz practically snapped, eager to know what had happened.

For a moment, I let a private smile curl on my lips, knowing how much that would annoy her. Her barbs didn't really hurt; it was actually kind of a relief to have her tease me like old times. It reassured me that things weren't really changing between us like I feared they were. "More like I ran out of there before I could experience an awkward mass naked shower thing. It's all a little homoerotic for me, this whole athletics thing," I replied jestingly, avoiding telling her that I'd felt like my life was more than a little threatened back there. You see, I do sometimes like to pretend that I'm not a total coward and don't need her to fight my battles for me. It makes me feel like more of a man and less of a... defenseless twelve-year-old.

She snickered a bit, pulling out of the parking lot, but when she had, Liz made sure to fix her eyes on me sternly. "Well, given that at least half of the players think you're gay, they probably expected you'd be really adept at performing the perfunctory hand-jobs. You know, Ed, I heard some guys have to blow the whole team just to get a spot..." she said casually, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Her lips quirked into a mocking smile as she leaned closer to me. "Are you one of them?"

Instead of gaping at her like a moron, I rolled my eyes at her and shoved her a little. Lizzie just should not be talking about things like that as if she's speaking with authority. It's really unnerving and really wrong. However, I knew she was just teasing me because she was annoyed I hadn't told her yet. "Actually, no, Lizzie, and, actually, the majority of them seem to think I'm your boyfriend," I replied easily, not pausing for even a moment to let her consider that. "Oh, and just so you know, I made the team. Coach Anderson wanted me for center forward," I told her with some smugness.

Lizzie's foot slammed down on the breaks, and she turned to gape at me in sheer disbelief. Angry people behind us honked, but she paid them no mind. I felt myself frown; is it really that shocking that I can occasionally be coordinated and athletic? I'm not the Klutzilla in the family here. All Lizzie could do was gasp and stare at me, mouth still open wide. A couple inappropriate dirty jokes came into my mind relating to the face she was making, but I forced myself to cast them aside. It took Lizzie a solid five minutes to recover, and I had to take the wheel, pull into a parking lot, and park awkwardly.

Um, let's just hope she's this stunned about me making the team and not the whole admission I just made about everyone thinking we're dating. Thank God I didn't voice the fact that everyone seems to believe we're sleeping together in anything other than a platonic sense and very rarely at that. That would've been just... awkward. Finally, Liz snapped out of it and turned to me, excitement written all over her face. It was a strangely Casey-like moment, and I was sort of half-afraid she'd start squealing and clapping and repeatedly telling me how proud she was of me. Her reaction was fortunately a little bit more subdued than all that. "Oh my _God_! What did you tell him? Come on, Ed, I'm dying here!" Lizzie exclaimed, practically bouncing up and down in her seat.

For a moment, I wondered if she'd be disappointed with my answer. Sports are so obviously a large part of her life, and she was always saying that I should expand my horizons and things like that. Then again, Lizzie is also smart enough to realize that I'm not her or Derek. I took a deep breath, and Lizzie shook me hard in an attempt to shake an answer out of me. I gave her my best Derek smirk. "What do you think I said?" I taunted, watching her. Lizzie gave me an annoyed look and motioned for me to go on impatiently. Sensing her irritation, I waited barely a minute before telling her. "I turned him down, of course, and I said I just did it to win a bet. And then I left," I summarized.

My sister just blinked at first, and my heart pounded unpleasantly as I wondered what she must be thinking of me. Finally, the fact seemed to register, and Lizzie punched me in the shoulder a bit too forcibly. "That's so bad-ass, Edwin! I'm... really impressed with you for staying true to yourself. I know it couldn't be easy... and, honestly, a lot of guys would give up their personalities for that kind of popularity," she proclaimed proudly, wrapping an arm around my neck and giving me a somewhat uncomfortable side-hug. It meant a lot to me that she said that, that she liked who I was and didn't care if I joined the team or not.

Several moments later, feeling rather strange, I pulled away from her, grinning cheekily. "Oh, and I told him it was a bet with my sister, by the way." Lizzie slugged me in the shoulder, muttering under her breath about how Coach Anderson was going to make her suffer. I shifted away from her, afraid of being further injured, and went on to declare, "Oh, and I pick Sylvia." Liz raised an eyebrow, giving me a skeptical look. I just continued, "For my date. You know I've had a thing for her for ages. Get me a date with her. She's the hot friend of my choosing, and if you do it, I might just go easy on you and make it so you don't have to go out with some completely disgusting troglodyte."

Apparently Liz had forgotten what I would get out of the bet. She suddenly turned very pale at the realization that I could now literally choose her next date. Honestly, I probably wasn't cruel enough to go through with it, but it was a threat I could use effectively against her. Lizzie also definitely wasn't crazy about the idea of Sylvia and me, an idea I'd voiced several times before. She always shot my hopes down so brutally, swearing up and down that Sylvia didn't like me, that I wasn't her type, etcetera. Half of me was just convinced that the mere idea of me liking her best friend was that threatening to her, and the whole thing was just so terribly familiar to me that it bothered me that I couldn't completely identify who had been in a similar situation.

Liz sighed, a vexed look crossing her face. "Edwin, she's my best friend," she protested. I gave her a look, and Lizzie quickly amended her statement. "Okay, fine. My best _girl_ friend. But really, Edwin, do you have to pick my best friend? If you start dating her, things will get awkward, and then you'll probably break up with her for some inane reason... like you always do after you find something you don't like in a girl... and then it'll be weird!" Liz continued somewhat childishly, talking too fast so that she got caught up in her words. She cocked her head and fixed a stern, almost pleading look on me. "You know I don't have that many girl friends, and I don't want my stupid brother ruining a good friendship for me," she elaborated, a trace of hope in her voice.

While normally this appeal would have made me relent, I was determined to claim my fair and just prize. All I'm asking for is one date, not a girlfriend. Besides, Sylvia is not her only female best friend figure. Lizzie has other friends, like Danielle and Helen, who are just as close to her and just as loyal. They're pretty hot too, of course, and they keep secrets a lot better than Sylvia does. That's not even going into all of her sports friends, either. I rolled my eyes at Lizzie. Can't she just let me have this one thing? "Lizzie, in case you've forgotten, _you_ actually went out with my best friend. And Teddy. So, really, you have no reason to complain about me wanting to do the same. I like Sylvia, and all I want to do is take her out one time. Just to see what it's like," I countered, trying to keep my voice under control.

I was still wired from hockey practice, aching all over, and more than a little bit irritated. This wasn't going as well as I'd anticipated. Lizzie screwed up her face in distaste, and I kept talking. "Lizzie, I haven't gone out with anyone in a year. Please. You owe me this. I held up my end of the bargain, now it's your turn," I continued, hating the desperation that was starting to creep into my voice. Okay, so maybe I lied a little... I do want more than one date. Of course, I'm very used to wanting things I know I'm never going to have, so I can accept that.

"And that was _your_ choice, Edwin. You could date pretty much any girl in the school if you wanted to, and of all of them, you have to choose my best friend?" Liz interjected a bit more forcibly. There was an edge, a stoniness in her voice that hurt me. She had turned to look at me and now turned back and huffed, bracing her hands on the steering wheel. It was a gesture that reminded me of Casey's former melodrama.

Any girl in the school, huh? In theory, perhaps, but in reality, a large number of them seem to think I'm involved with my stepsister. "Well, at least I'm not pining over someone who will never want me," I retorted bitterly. I regretted saying it almost as soon as the words came out of my mouth. Lizzie's head jerked to the side so she could face me. The look on her face at first seemed like rage, but a moment later, when tears started to form in her eyes, she turned away, back to the steering wheel. She took a steadying breath but said nothing. I realized that the look on her face was a pain-stricken one; she looked stunned, like I'd just punched her in the stomach and knocked all of the air out of her lungs. She hadn't seen it coming.

For what felt like the millionth time all day, I felt guilty. So I quietly unfastened my seatbelt and leaned over to the side, moving closer to her, reaching out for her hand. Lizzie drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and icily removed her hand from the steering wheel. "Lizzie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. You know that," I told her apologetically, genuinely sorry for what I said but not really repentant. I might not have meant to say it, after all, but I meant it, all right. And Lizzie knew that, of course, which is why it hurt so much.

She shook her head, and to my horror, I saw that she was crying. "No, Edwin. You meant it, all right..." she muttered bitterly, wiping at her cheeks. She brought her head up to look at me. The tears glimmered in her eyes and on her cheeks. "I get... I get why you're like that. I know it's _sick_, and it's wrong. He's practically a brother to me! And I know that you don't a-approve... or understand... But it's not ea-easy for me, Ed-win. I don't... don't want to feel this way, but I just... c-can't help it. It's not like I **want** to be in love with Der-ek! But I am, and I... you've got to realize that I can't change that," she told me emotionally, sniffling a little. Her uncharacteristic display of emotion had a profound affect on me. Most times when we spoke about her feelings, she seemed so confident that Derek could feel the same way... but not now. And then she was falling into my arms, burying her face in my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around her automatically, rubbing her back in what I hoped was a soothing way. "I'm sorry, Lizzie," I said because there wasn't anything else I could think to say. Words aren't exactly my strong point. What could I say to that? "I know, Liz. But you know that I want what's best for you, and... you deserve better, okay?" I told her, trying to be as comforting as I could. Lizzie nodded, beginning to pull away. She slowly attempted to collect herself, swiping at her eyes, peering in the mirror and frowning at her reflection.

She glanced over at me. "I'm sorry about having an emotional meltdown on you," Lizzie offered with an apologetic smile. I just waved it off. I can't really handle tears well, but she obviously needed to get that out, and I'd rather be there when it happens than not be there to comfort her. I'm not like my brother in that respect. She cleared her throat, turned, and said very patiently, as if she was explaining something to a child or a slow person, "But, as I've told you many times, Edwin, Sylvia simply isn't interested. You're not her type. She doesn't like you, and she doesn't want to go out with you. Trust me, even if I did somehow get her to say yes, the both of you would be miserable. The only thing you two have in common is me, and you'd get bored of her fast, and that would be the end of that. Save yourself the trouble, Edwin." She patted me on the shoulder.

Clearly, I've liked this girl for years and have had a fair amount of conversations with her, so I think it's relatively safe to assume that I wouldn't get tired of her so quickly. Besides, I know we have things in common besides Lizzie. The rest, the bit about Sylvia's supposed feelings, Lizzie had said many times, and her recitation was wooden. "That's not true, Lizzie!" I argued.

Liz crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, yes it is! Every girl you've ever dated—except Michelle—you've gotten bored of after a couple dates, a few weeks, a month or so! However long it takes you to find something you don't like about them! And you always find something... so you leave them first so that they can't leave you," Liz rejoined, cocking an eyebrow. She was insinuating, perhaps, that Michelle had changed me. Either way, she'd managed to remind me of the fact that every girl who'd ever mattered to me had left me. My mother, Casey, Lizzie, Michelle... Every girlfriend I had up through Michelle had dumped _me_. So sue me for being sick of being in that powerless position.

Nevertheless, I tried to argue with Lizzie. "I do not do that!" I interjected loudly.

My sister rolled her eyes at me. "Yes, you do, and it's just about the stupidest thing ever. You broke up with Tricia after two weeks because she was too perky. You dumped Jessica after three weeks because she got drunk at a party, and you disapprove of both drunkenness and her perceived lack of judgment. You stopped seeing Vanessa after three dates when you found out she liked gross-out comedies. You broke things off after a month with Monica when she expressed interest in meeting your family because you thought it was just the excuse she'd been waiting for to meet Derek. You ditched Angela after two dates because she wore Abercrombie. You never called Diane back because she said she didn't believe in evolution. You broke up with Miranda after two months because she was too pretty. You stopped taking Katy's calls after five weeks because you decided she was unnaturally skinny and pale and thus concluded she was probably a blood-sucking vampire. And then there's my personal favorite, when you walked out on Shelly in the middle of your first date because, and I quote, you could never date anyone who preferred Linus Pauling to Einstein," Lizzie explained pointedly, giving me a look that dared me to argue with her.

Well, when you put it that way, it makes me sound like a paranoid snob. Frankly, though, Tricia's perpetual cheerfulness got on my nerves. She could never understand me because everything was always perfect for her. Jessica made out with her ex when she got drunk at that party and was dumb enough to post pictures on Facebook. Vanessa was stupid, and we had nothing in common. Monica was a serious hockey groupie; her screenname had Derek's number in it! Angela was a complete conformist with no mind of her own, not to mention more than a little slutty. I'm not even going into Diane because I just can't tolerate intolerance, much less someone who undermines what I'm interested in.

Miranda, well, she was just way too pretty for me. Clearly she should have been dating someone used to that level of extreme attractiveness. And, honestly, I think I was right about Katy. She liked dark clothes and had an unnatural fondness for red meat... plus she was always attached to my neck, and that was kind of painful. Good thing she just disappeared last year. And Linus Pauling and Einstein? That's like comparing apples and oranges. "Okay, so I'm a little bit picky... But you know I've liked Sylvia for years, Liz. That's not going to change overnight," I insisted, staring her down.

I kept staring at Lizzie until she could bare it no longer. She looked away and sighed irritably. "Okay, fine, Ed! I'll see what I can do. But I'm not making any promises! And if she doesn't like you, bro, then she just doesn't like you. Don't get your hopes up, okay?" Liz relented, casting a sideways glance at me. I smiled and ambushed her with a grateful side-hug that wasn't entirely comfortable. So sue me, I'm a hugger. Lizzie shook her head at me and pried herself away from me, pulling out of the parking lot and beginning to drive home.

And me? Thanks to stupid hockey try-outs, I'm closer than I've ever been to a date with a girl I've had a thing for since ninth grade. And, if Lizzie can talk her into it, this might be exactly what I need... otherwise I'm going to lose my mind.

Loren ;*

I heart reviews, so if you could give me some, darlings, I would greatly appreciate it. And we really do need more fics out there that don't COMPLETELY revolve around Derek and Casey. Just saying. I know it's hard to help it, but come on... The other characters deserve some love. Especially our favorite neglected middle siblings!


	10. Corrosion

Okay, so I can honestly say that as of late this story is surprising me a hell of a lot. I feel like I've been getting a lot of reviews for it lately, and, well, practically anything is a lot of reviews, considering it's not a Derek/Casey story. So I guess I've been getting more of a response than I expected. Apparently it just... resonates strongly with some people. And I guess you could say this story's pretty close to my heart too, because it's all I've been able to write lately. I've always really enjoyed writing this story because I feel like it gives me a lot of freedom. I can reference any episode I want, I can do it on my own time, the chapters don't have to be any particular length (though they wind up LONG), there's crazy tension galore, I get to research things, there are never really parts I have to suffer through writing, and it's never not fun to write, and I really feel like I get to explore a lot of different themes with it, and, I dunno, I feel like it's kind of got a sort of gritty-realism feel to it. Which is basically awesome.

I'm also weird in that I've always been an author that doesn't make you wait for the first kiss. Like, it happens. And then they'll kiss again and do stuff or whatever, but they won't be in a relationship, y'know? **Oh, and on that note, here's a little warning: there are some, um, sexy times for Edwin in this chapter. I don't really think it's explicit or anything, and the kid isn't having sex, but just to warn you. It happens almost right after Liz and Ed talk about her look, and it lasts a couple paragraphs, but I think it's pretty tame.** Mostly 'cause I don't want anyone whining about it. I tried to do it tastefully, but if you don't like, just skip it. I think it's pretty obvious leading up to it... Anyway, aside from that, this chapter delves a bit more into their family issues and kind of the family psyche. Edwin plays hardball with Derek, and Derek gives advice. This chapter might also seem kind of slow, but it all kind of builds, and I don't know, the main thing is that you basically get a fairly large glimpse at what's going on with Derek but not quite all of it.

Oh, and, incidentally, there's a Canadian rockstar-type named Edwin. And his band is called The Pressure. I just found that funny. And yes, I did know that before I wrote the last chapter. Lol.

But I have a lot of fun writing Edwin because of, among other things, his tortured existence. And, I dunno, I guess I can relate to him. It's interesting to write him because I kind of adopt a more formal style. Edwin generally speaks and thinks in full sentences, rarely starts sentences with "and" or "but" or "because", uses big words too, sometimes, and I get to throw all kinds of sciencey things in there as references and allusions and actual parts of the story. Admittedly, I started writing this when I was in Chemistry last year, and I've always been really fascinated with science and knowing the how and the why of everything. And I dunno... I just think he's a really cool, interesting, complex character.

Anyway, it's really hard to come up with titles for these chapters. I have to find just the right one to fit the theme of the chapter. So, after going through Fermentation, Hypothesis, Inertia, Decay, Half-Life, Entropy, Suspension, and all that, this is what I came up with. I kind of like going for a pun/irony angle when I can, hence why I considered Fermentation, Entropy, Suspension, and Half-Life, etc.

I own nothing, except Sebastian and Nanny Mo. And the plot. And the words, I suppose. So don't steal them. ;)

So I want to thank all of you for reviewing, because, really, you have no idea how much that means to me, hearing what you have to say about it.

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**Corrosion:** 1. The process of disintegration of a material into its components resulting from reactions with the environment, generally the deterioration of metal caused by chemical action or oxidation. 2. Chemical erosion, i.e. rust.

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So, um, since I'm not Derek Venturi and everything... the hockey players have been kind of hazing me. The problem is that they do it in a really unfair way, just sneaking up on me and punching me in the stomach and stuff when I'm walking around a corner or something. They want retribution; I can see it in their beady little eyes. Yeah, so apparently I made a mockery of their sport or whatever, but really they're just pissed that I decided I didn't want to be on their stupid little team. Not that they ever wanted me on it in the first place. They're really just mad that "I think I'm too good to be on their team." Stosenhansky wants my head on a platter, I assure you, and he's this hulk of a guy I knocked over twice in that practice.

Sadly, I'm more docile in real-life than I am when I'm pissed off on the ice, so I'm reduced to walking around flanked by friends, especially Lizzie. Worse still, I have to be all secretive about it, which makes me look pretty dodgy. So one afternoon, Liz and I were walking down the hallway. She was fresh from one practice or another. Basketball, I think it was. Our girls' hockey and basketball teams have to have practice scheduled on different days just because of Lizzie. Her hair was kind of damp, and her skin was still flushed from the activity. Lizzie has a lot of endurance from all her years of soccer and hockey, but their coach still made them run a couple hundred windsprints, so she was pretty worn out. The season was just starting.

Her eyes were bright and feverish; she was a bit delirious from the adrenaline rush. She turned to me, practically stopping in the middle of the hallway, and grabbed my arm. I froze and stared at her in silence. "Oh my gosh, I just remembered! Derek's coming to dinner tonight!" Lizzie exclaimed, all of the sudden very excited. A serious look flitted over her face, quickly giving way to panic. Her grip tightened on my arm. "Oh, Edwin, you've got to help me pick out what to wear!" she ejaculated breathlessly.

Naturally, I cocked a brow skeptically. "Me? Liz, you haven't forgotten I'm a guy again, have you?" I quipped, forcing a smile. She actually had done that a couple times. I can't count how many times she's dragged me to the mall or forced me to go with her on some other really girly outing because none of her friends could. It's kind of like I've become a surrogate sister now that Casey's gone. Lizzie and I don't talk about Casey much now that she's... well, now that Liz is in love with my idiot brother.

Then again, I don't always mind when she forgets I'm a guy... because she'll change in front of me sometimes, and I try not to look... but it's just so hard because she's _right_ there... you know, she drags me in changing rooms with her sometimes, and I know that the salespeople are really pissed off because they always give me these nasty, snide looks down their nose and make insinuations about sex. Lizzie shot me a helpless look, leaning in to me. "Wouldn't Marti be better suited to that particular task?" I prompted helpfully.

Liz wrinkled her nose at my suggestion, shooting me a look. "Okay, Edwin, how 'bout you run that sentence over in your mind again? In case you've forgotten, Marti doesn't know how to match properly. And if that girl was left to her own devices, she'd dress like a complete streetwalker. Those combinations might work for Marti, but they do not work for me!" Lizzie interjected, throwing her hands in the air exasperatedly. I was forced to nod my agreement with her. Marti likes clothes, don't get me wrong, but I still remember how she ran around naked all the time until she was four. Marti's always been a bit of an exhibitionist, and like our older brother, she's a bit (sexually) precocious and... popular with the other sex. Sometimes I worry she'll wind up a stripper or porn star. Or in a nudist colony somewhere.

I was, however, about to interject that letting Marti dictate her choice of clothes wouldn't be a half-bad idea when I stopped myself short. This is how my reasoning went: Marti, despite her lack of consideration for carefully putting together proper outfits that match and her fondness for skimpy or clashing clothes, has a great personal style. She knows what flatters her, and she wears mostly what she wants. While that style might not fit Lizzie, Marti would definitely know what would look good on her sister. After all, she'd always loved to play dress-up. Besides, Marti was already far more well-versed in the art of make-up application than Lizzie had ever been from years of practice on anyone who would stand still long enough and experience in school plays. And it wasn't like Lizzie had a bad body or anything... She had plenty to show off with those trim muscles and long legs and tight, tan skin and...

You can easily see how my thoughts degenerated. Lizzie huffed, pacing back and forth like a hungry tiger, bringing me back to earth. I tried to blink the images away but found it harder to do so than I wished. "Besides, Ed, Derek's coming to dinner! Marti's anything but stupid! I mean, who the hell would she think I was dressing up for? _You_?! No, it'd be obvious that I was only doing it because Derek's going to be there! And, anyway, the girl doesn't know the meaning of the word subtlety! Mom and Dad would wonder why I was dressed up like a total hooker for family dinner!" Lizzie continued melodramatically. With the way she was going on, I was rather fortunate that we were in an empty hallway. If we hadn't been, she would've been grabbing anything she could and hurling it at the walls.

I would've grabbed her, but I didn't trust myself. For that matter, I didn't really trust her not to punch me, and I was already sore from a well-placed punch in the gut courtesy of my old bully, Ronny. When Lizzie gets in this state, she's a lot like her older sister, only more volatile and dangerous. Lizzie's like a tornado; she lashes out at you when she's upset or nervous. Casey, on the other hand, hyperventilates, overanalyzes, generally freaks out, and won't shut up. Lizzie's much more physical than her sister; with Casey, everything's psychological. And that probably includes the strangeness that is her relationship with Derek. I shrugged and tried to play it cool, which was generally the safest way to approach her in one of her moods. "Then just say you're doing it for me," I told her automatically with this nonchalant little shrug, like it didn't even matter.

Liz turned to gape at me, frozen in disbelief. Only then I realized what I had said. There I go, putting my foot in my mouth again. Lizzie blinked in disbelief. "What?" she said blankly. You heard me, I urged her with my eyes. Lizzie blinked again, looking confused. She seemed to think it over a moment, and her eyes went dark and intent. A moment later, however, she looked away and shook her head. "Come on, Ed. Marti would never believe that. She's thirteen, not **stupid**," Liz muttered, immediately discarding my idea. "Besides, like I'd need to impress _you_ anyway," she scoffed.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I shot her an angry, curious look, but Lizzie was looking in the opposite direction and missed it. Damn it, why did hearing that sting so much? It felt like she'd as good as slapped me in the face. Of course my sister isn't stupid (she's _my_ sister, after all); she's really intuitive and perceptive for someone so young, reminds me of myself a little, but it's actually mostly really creepy. Unfortunately, however, when it comes to men, my sisters really can pick them. I don't even need to go into the string of losers Casey and Lizzie have both dated, although certain ones stand out... such as Scott, Truman, Max, Teddy, Tony, and Derek. And don't even get me started on Marti and Morgan; I swear, half the reason she's doing this is because Dimitri Davis is a dumbass who doesn't realize that my sister wants him to be upset about it because she's got a thing for him.

We McDonald-Venturis are quite dysfunctional when it comes to relationships. Casey overanalyzes everything and has ridiculously high expectations, not to mention her obsessive, perfectionist qualities, so she can't ever really just be... which makes it pretty much impossible for her to be ever truly content. Lizzie avoids serious relationships and fell in love with her older, unattainable stepbrother, probably because he's unattainable. Marti started dating a complete tool in the hopes of making her best friend, the guy she really likes, jealous and wound up falling for him too, which is sickening. Derek pathologically can't commit, and it's obvious that whatever relationships he has are transient... He uses people like Marti does because he can't have who he really wants and needs someone to take her place, only no one's ever quite... _perfect _enough. And me, well, I alternate between being really horny all the time and abhorring relationships and being so picky that relationships just won't form, so it's basically like I don't really feel like I want or need a relationship. I self-sabotage... oh, no, wait, that was Truman. And Vicky, well, she just steals the guys Casey's interested in, seeking attention in the most pathetic ways imaginable.

Lizzie turned her pleading eyes on me once again. "Come on, Edwin, you have to do this for me. Please?" she pleaded, making sure that her bottom lip trembled just the right amount to make me waver and give in. I sighed and gave in unwillingly, silently assenting to her request. Lizzie beamed madly and took my arm, motoring us towards the car practically giddily. She was giggling, which alarmed me a great deal. I wondered why on earth she could possibly be so excited about me helping her with her clothes when I'm even more clueless than she is about this sort of thing. That being said, Lizzie's clueless when it comes to guys. Half the time she doesn't know they're into her, and half the time she crushes them like a black widow or preying mantis.

She drove home faster than usual because Derek was coming over at five-thirty, so she needed every second available to get ready. We made idle chit-chat in the car, but when we walked into the house, the mood turned serious. The sitter was, of course, passed out on the couch. Mom and Dad hired a drunk, but they'd never hear it because she's always available during the days and Sebastian hasn't driven her away. Obviously because she's drunk all the time. Otherwise nannies run away from this house screaming. According to Dad, Sebastian is actually measures better than Derek, but nonetheless, my little brother is still a hell of a handful.

I grimaced, glancing at the state of our now trashed house. It looked almost like Derek had thrown a party in here. Lizzie nodded and automatically started cleaning, leaving me to deal with Nanny Wino, as usual. Liz moved with a practiced efficiency that came from years of appeasing Casey's cleaning neuroses. I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water before returning to the couch. I called her name repeatedly, raising my voice. When that didn't work, I slapped her cheeks lightly, once again repeating her name. I sighed heavily and picked up the glass of water. I really didn't want to have to get the couch wet, but I didn't have any other choice. So I stared at the woman for a moment before emptying the glass over her head.

She woke up, half-drenched, and sat up straight. Her unfocused, confused eyes darted around anxiously, flitting from object to object like a butterfly might. She wasn't half as endearing as a butterfly, though. Rivulets of water trickled down the sides of her face and over her close, coming to an end sharply in her lap. She sputtered for air, shuddering involuntarily, and I rolled my eyes at her. Liz tossed me a dish towel, which I threw unceremoniously into the puddle on the Alkie's lap. She blinked at me, still uncomprehending. "Honestly, woman, clean yourself up! I get that you're two sheets to the wind, but that's really no excuse. My parents are going to be here sometime soon, and, although you can blame this on C, I'm tired of cleaning up your messes. You're lucky my brother didn't decide to jump off the stairs when you were taking a little nap. If he did, they'd charge you with criminal negligence, and guess who'd be the star witness at that trial?" I barked at her.

Since I can't really get my anger out on the people I'm actually upset with, I either internalize or take it out on randoms, like the Alcowhore who's supposed to be my brother's caretaker. I know that it's a problem, but I consider it much more impressive that I don't go off on the vital people who actually do irritate me... and it's not like this wretched woman doesn't deserve it. She slowly blotted at the water in her lap, on her shoulders, drying herself off clumsily. I'd say she was a bit scared of me, what with the way she was avoiding my eyes, but she was probably too drunk to care much. Lizzie, however, shot me a dirty look over her head and came over to us.

Always more compassionate and infinitely more patient with the stupidity of others than me, Liz made a smile and patted the woman on the shoulder while simultaneously glaring at me. "Edwin, don't talk to her that way," she replied tightly. I rolled my eyes at her and gave her an incredulous look. Liz exhaled heavily, and the look in her eyes warned me that I wasn't the head of the household, so who was I to pretend I was? "She's still a person, you know..." Lizzie said primly, rubbing the woman's back.

I full on scowled at Lizzie, grimacing. "No, Liz... I think I have _every_ right to talk to her this way. Because I'm the only person who ever does. She's clearly incompetent, as if the fact that she came to work drunk wasn't enough to convince anyone that she cannot do this job. If it were up to me, I'd have fired her weeks ago... but unfortunately Dad and Nora won't listen to me. So, Liz, why don't you tell me how the hell I'm supposed to treat a woman who endangers my brother's life? 'Cause I'm really tired of covering for her ass," I snapped irritably. The woman glanced up at me through her lashes and just stared for a good moment before reaching her hand out towards me. I took a step back and shook my head firmly, unable to look at her. "I'm going to find C before he destroys something else. Sober her up, will you, sis?" I told her over my shoulder, hurrying out of the room.

Naturally, I headed into the kitchen, opening all the cabinets and the fridge like a madman in case C decided they were playing hide-and-go-seek. He really likes enclosed spaces, for some reason. I suddenly heard the dryer going particularly vigorously and dashed to the laundry room, feeling horror and panic flood in my veins. Nanny the Lush has been known to put loads in the washer and dryer before... without checking the pockets and sometimes including non-laundry items, such as an umbrella, an apple, and a rubber rainboot. My first thought was that the dreadful woman had accidentally thrown my little brother in with a load of whites, so I threw the door to the dryer (and washer, for good measure) open. Fortunately, to my great relief, little Sebastian was not inside. Unfortunately, towels of all colors were, mismatched and bleeding together and tangled up, so I untangled them and restarted the dryer.

After that, I headed down to the basement because that's where he sleeps and a great deal of his toys are down there. The room was a wreck, but he wasn't down there. On my way upstairs to the second floor, I peered out the window to see if he was outside. He didn't seem to be, which meant he was either upstairs or doing something like playing in traffic... Sadly, it wouldn't be the first time. I peered into all of our rooms, starting with Marti's and Lizzie's, then the empty tomb that once was Casey's room, then, with some trepidation, Derek's fortress of solitude, and, finally, I trudged up the stairs to my own dusty bedroom. He was nowhere to be found, and the emptiness of the house struck me suddenly.

Nevertheless, I decided to check the bathroom, and, when he wasn't in there, I strode over to the Games Closet. We used it a lot back when I was a kid for entertainment... on rainy days, when we were bored, when we had friends over... and so forth, back in those days when we didn't have the Internet, and everything was so much simpler. As the years passed, and my parents' marriage became rockier, the games united us as a family on Family Night. A temporary truce was upheld from the fighting, just for that night, and we all pretended to get along just fine. It was almost like we were a normal happy family. Then Mom and Dad divorced, and the games were the only time we came together anymore except for dinner because suddenly our lives were all so separate. Like our parents, we each went our own way to a certain degree; and, Derek, of course, had the run of the house.

Then as we grew older, Marti and I, Derek tutored us in strategy and competition from them. "The most important thing you need to know," a preteen Derek instructed as solemnly and wisely as a general might (even then he was a natural leader, albeit one who took himself far too seriously), "is that life is just one big game. And don't believe any of that crap they tell you in school about everyone being winners because it's just not true. You either win or you lose. There is no in-between, and you've got to think strategically. Because... in the real world... if you get it wrong, you lose a lot more than just bragging rights. And we Venturis, you hear me, _always_ win. No matter what we have to do to be victorious."

At the time, we mistakenly thought he was speaking of Life the board game and were immensely confused. In that strange way of his, Derek did turn out to be right about most of it. However, my brother is an absolutist. For someone who sees so many things in shades of gray, he could never quite understand that him winning didn't necessarily mean that someone else was losing and vice-versa. Maybe that's his problem. At any rate, the lessons came in handy when the McDonalds moved in, and they soon developed into a fierce competition between families.

Derek proved himself to be ruthless, hardheaded, bold, incredibly determined, and gifted with an incredibly brilliant strategic mind. He also showed himself to be a sore loser, which we had already known. Derek can't stand **not** being the best at something, as ironic as it is that he's called Casey obsessive compulsive for the demonstrating the same behavior. That's only true, of course, if Derek actually cares about being good at it or takes pride in it or even has the satisfaction that he's done his best.

Then the Games Closet became a place to hide. It was my private sanctuary, my place to hide from an angry Derek ordering me around or an escape from the insanity of our blended household (literally blended, with the lid off and the contents kind of mushed up but still too whole and too different to mix together properly, and, of course, splattered all over the house). It became the place to meet with Lizzie, and within those few feet of confined space our friendship was born. Then it was _our_ place to hide away from our overbearing siblings, our place for comfort, our place to create our own world and forget the one outside. Lizzie and I were misfits, just like the old costumes and forgotten toys that cluttered the shelves and the walls.

But as we got closer and closer, and older and bigger, we used it less. And one day suddenly Derek was using it to scheme and make out with Emily, and I remember feeling very offended, betrayed even, even though I had no reason to feel that way, no claim to lay to it. Because that was _my_ place, our place, my place free from Derek, and he'd polluted it by fooling around with the girl-next-door inside of it. Worse still, he wasn't even discreet! Both Marti and Casey herself caught them kissing inside, and I could just picture the stunned look on Casey's face when she saw, the breathless gasp, the o-shape of her lips, the horror and disgust in her eyes, the stiffness of her spine, the slow way she moved afterwards, still shell-shocked.

We just didn't use it much after that because there was no need to communicate in secret, not with cellphones and lockers and looks and empty rooms, so much empty, oppressive space in the house. We were too big for it, and we'd grown out of it, I told myself. So it laid there empty and dusty and unused because no one really played board games anymore. And even when Lizzie and I... when there was that thing the summer of my fourteenth year... we never went inside. Except that one time at the end, but that doesn't count because it was just one stupid last kiss. I don't know why, really, because that easily was the most private place in the house. Yet it was also the first place to look and thus the most obvious. But why bother with secret corners and dark closets when we had the house to ourselves during the day and could spend hours in each others' rooms without raising the faintest suspicion (and had parents who were simply too busy to care)?

I guess some things, the Games Closet among them, were just sacrosanct.

Sebastian's birth had given it new life. It was less dusty now; its musty old board games again saw the light of day. Yet, ironically, I'd lost all my former interest in playing them. I didn't even go near the closet now unless asked, and no one ever asked me. The musty, forgotten smell made me cough and sneeze. Still, I would find my eyes lingering on it in the hall as I passed by, almost as if I was wondering what I'd left behind that door. Maybe I had left something more than dust and memories there, but whatever it was, I'd long forgotten it was missing and didn't need it anymore.

For the first time in a long while, I strolled across the floor to the door and opened it gently. And there, of course, standing on one of the shelves, trying to reach Sorry!, was C. Incredibly, I managed to catch him before he fell down and injured himself. C wiggled and turned around in my arms. I'm not athletic, obviously, so he was as heavy as a sack of potatoes. C pouted at me, jabbing his finger in the direction of the box he wanted. "I wanna play Sorry! But Nanny Mo wouldn't get it, so I came up here all by myself, and it was weally, _weally_ hard," C demanded, giving me those stupid puppy eyes he'd inherited from Marti and Derek. Unfortunately for me, my eyes have never held that cute, sweet, persuasive expression.

I felt bad, too, because obviously our nanny was worthless. A light flickered in C's eyes, and he regarded me curiously with a contemplative stare that reminded me very much of Derek. It had the same glint of manipulation. C weighed it over for a moment before opening up his mouth and turning on the charm. "Eddie, will you play with me instead?" he asked, looking up at me with wide, trusting eyes. Even if I had been able to say no to him, I wouldn't have. Instead, I smiled at him and reached for the game. Something about the closet made my skin itch all over, and I was anxious to get out.

A moment later, I accidentally slammed the door behind me and set C down, handing him the game. I bent down to his level, trying to remember exactly how Derek related to him. Derek had always been so much better at this. Children love him on sight. "Look, C, I promise I'll play with you... but I can't do it right now because I have to help Lizzie with something. How 'bout we play after dinner? We can get Derek to join us... you'd like that, wouldn't you?" I offered softly, kindly, placing a hand on my little brother's shoulder. I made sure to look him in the eyes, trying my best to convey the urgency of this plea.

C pouted a bit at first, but then he came around. As usual, his eyes lit up when I mentioned Derek, and he nodded eagerly, agreeing to my proposal. I smiled back genuinely. "Okay, so I have to go help out Lizzie with some icky girly stuff..." I explained, pulling a face. C grimaced and gave me a sympathetic look. Ah, the days when girls still had cooties. I wish I could go back to that time... Things were so much simpler then. "Can you do me a favor and go downstairs? You can watch some TV with Nanny Ho-er, Nanny Maureen... and we can get you some nice fruit snacks. How's that sound?" I suggested hopefully.

My little brother, ever the negotiator, thought it over for a moment and pronounced, "Okay! But I want Goldfish instead." I nodded, assuring him he could have whatever he wanted, turning to head down the hallway. His tiny hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. When I turned around, the look on his face was deathly serious. "And I'm not gonna watch no dumb soap operas or any of those stupid shows Nanny Mo-Mo likes. I wanna watch kids' stuff," he decreed decisively. I nodded hastily; it was no concern of mine, and that was Nanny Wino's problem. Plus what she watches probably isn't suitable for children Sebastian's age anyway. Then and only then, he grabbed my hand and led the way down the stairs.

Lizzie was force-feeding the nanny coffee and trying to keep her from drooling or doing something idiotic. When we walked over to them, I grabbed the remote, changing the channel to Nickelodeon and handing the remote to C, who planted his butt firmly in Derek's recliner. Lizzie looked rather stressed, consumed by the task of tending to our drunken babysitter, but I merely walked past her. I found the Goldfish and grabbed a handful, putting them into a bowl. After all, I didn't want someone to nag me about ruining C's dinner. I dusted my hand off on my pants and set the bowl in C's lap. He gleefully began to devour them, beady eyes focused on the cartoon that was currently showing.

I sighed, quietly relieved, and Liz came over to me, looking older than her years. I cast a glance at the woman she'd been tending to, who looked somewhat more put together, although still more than slightly damp and dazed. Her eyes were a bit clearer, but she was still kind of slumped over, eyes as unfocused as ever. Lizzie and I exchanged a look which meant that it was time for me to help her get ready. My mood worsened, of course, but I managed a succinct nod and a tight smile. I directed my words at C, "Little bro, watch Nanny Mo for us, will you?"

My sister pursed her lips, eying me with thinly-veiled disapproval, but I rolled my eyes and gestured for her to go up the stairs ahead of me. Since apparently now I'm her fairy godmother, her key to ensuring Derek's attentions. Ugh, you know, sometimes I really hate my life. I followed her up the stairs and into her room unwillingly, moving like lead. I guess I hoped that if I took my time she'd get frustrated, and I'd get out of it. Unfortunately, she only got annoyed and snapped at me to hurry up.

When I walked into her room, it already looked like a cyclone had it it. I found it hard to believe that she'd managed to mess it up that much in only a few minutes. Lizzie was standing in front of her mirror, holding several potential outfits to her front, posing. "What do you think?" she asked, turning her head back to look at me. She was holding up a blue cocktail dress that looked familiar. I remembered with an intense clarity that it was Casey's Senior Prom dress and shook my head no vigorously.

"It's too much," I told her bluntly. And it was, of course, but it was so much more than that. That dress, well, there was no telling how Derek would react to seeing it. Frankly, I didn't want him seeing it and confusing Lizzie for... for someone she's not, in Case he has any little disturbing fantasies. Because I would know, and I really wouldn't wish that on anyone. Lizzie frowned and set the dress down carefully but dutifully, looking a bit like she didn't want to do that. Next she held up a short black miniskirt and low-cut red shirt. I shook my head again.

The next twelve hundred outfits were a mix of the sluttiest outfits Lizzie could put together and Casey's old hand-me-downs. Real classy. Saying I didn't approve would be an understatement. The outfits also had a wholly unpleasant side-effect of causing me to imagine how she looked in them, which made my throat dry. Apparently Lizzie's the one who doesn't understand the meaning of subtle. After one rejection too many, I rolled my eyes and walked over to Lizzie. "Okay, since apparently you don't understand how to do this, I'll give you a few pointers... okay?" I quipped a bit irritably but not unkindly, walking over to her and taking the clothes from her hands. "Look at yourself in the mirror, Liz," I instructed her, pausing for a moment, "What do you see?"

She did as told, peering in the mirror, taking in her reflection. She shrugged helplessly, sighing dramatically. "A girl who is way in over her head and has no idea what the hell she's doing," she admitted, sinking a little. It was true, but it hurt me to see her like this, to watch her be so unsure of herself. I missed the Lizzie who wouldn't change for anyone, unlike her sister. I missed the girl who didn't try to be anything other than what she was, as opposed to this stranger masquerading as my sister and pretending to be someone else entirely. Because, damn it, she is perfect just the way she is.

No matter how much I didn't want to help her land Derek, I still loved Lizzie and wanted to help her, period. So I tried my damnedest to push aside my personal disapproval and came closer to her. First, I shook my head decisively, wishing Lizzie would perk up a little and smile at me. "Okay, yeah, you might be feeling that way right now, but that is not _you_, Lizzie," I told her firmly and sympathetically. Lizzie's eyes filled with confusion, and I moved behind her slowly, purposefully. I adjusted her posture, placing my hands on her hips, pulling her waist back a bit. She brushed against me, and I felt suddenly like the air had drained from the room.

Apparently the feeling was mutual, because she sucked in a breath and tensed under my fingertips. I moved one of my hands to the small of her back and barely had to push at all because she straightened her back instinctively. My touch on the strip of bare skin there was uncomfortable to the both of us. I felt like my hand would burn right off if I kept it there any longer, but I persisted, moving my hands up the curve of her spine and to the set of her shoulders. My hands straightened her back and brought her shoulders back so that she stood tall and proud. "Confidence is the biggest turn-on there is, Liz," I whispered into her ear.

I realized very suddenly that I was in the mirror with her. We shared a reflection, and Lizzie was transfixed, staring at it wordlessly. Her back brushed against my front from time to time, close enough for just a moment of contact to make me wonder but far enough away to drive me completely insane and leave me wanting something... more. I'd felt her sharp intake of breath at my words, and I'd known my voice had been a little too low and husky. And all of my nerves were alive with the wrongness of the moment, the surprising, unintentional intimacy of the gesture. When I could find my voice again (because she really was so close and so soft, and it was driving me crazy), I pulled away, clearing my throat. "And Derek likes his girls confident," I added a moment later in a voice that was stronger.

Liz swallowed hard and nodded, committing it to memory. I dragged my hands away from her body. Confidence, after all, had never really been Lizzie's problem. I inhaled deeply, trying to remember what else I had wanted to tell her. "You are beautiful and intelligent and amazing, and any guy would be lucky to have you, especially Derek," I insisted with a quiet intensity, even though it made my esophagus burn to say it. I thought I was going to vomit, but I forced the words past my lips. Ugh, saying that Derek would be _lucky_ to have her. Lizzie brightened up a little and gave me a half-smile, which allowed me to cheer up a measure.

She was waiting eagerly for more advice, so I drew back and suddenly I was pacing, thinking furiously. "What you need to do, Liz, is not to make him look with... with outfits like that. Because he won't notice you in a different way. You need to change his perception of you, make him see the you that other guys see. Derek's... an oblivious guy when he wants to be, so you've got to kind of creep up on him until he can't deny it any more, you see?" I advised cautiously. Liz filed these details away, and I once again examined her in the mirror.

"So dress a bit more subtly... You don't want Derek... or George... to explode at the dinner table." I hope she didn't think I meant that Derek would explode of sexual desire. I meant that he'd be really freaked out and probably angry and overprotective. "And we don't want anyone else to be suspicious," I continued. Although Dad and Nora aren't exactly the most observant of people, they would think something was up if Lizzie came down in one of these skimpy outfits she'd put together. I scanned her clothes for something suitable and sufficiently modest yet sexy enough to suit my tastes. The sensation of just how messed up my life suddenly threatened to overwhelm me.

Still, I pushed away the thoughts that would leave me breathless with panic and confused and focused on the task before me. My levelheadedness had often been admired in this household that's so lacking in it, and now was no exception. I bent down and fumbled around for a shirt she could wear. "You ought to wear a green shirt. It's your best color." Lizzie frowned and protested as I searched for green fabric in the pile of clothes at our feet. She kicked off her shoes, crossing her arms over her chest and said something about wanting to wear red for some reason or another because she'd always been told green made her look washed out, which was ridiculous.

I brought my head back up to look her in the eyes. "Whoever told you that was jealous. Trust me, I know these things. Green looks great on you. Brings out the hazel in your eyes... Plus, it's Derek's favorite color. Now, we just have to find the right green shirt... one that shows just a hint of cleavage but not too much..." I disagreed absentmindedly, digging through the clothes. Lizzie's mouth dropped open as she considered this. Apparently she hadn't known green was Derek's favorite color, despite it being the color of his pajamas and a significant portion of his wardrobe. Ironically, green is my favorite color too (Lizzie, on the other hand, prefers purple, despite her environmentalist tendencies). I suppose I can't blame her, though; Derek has a very stereotypically red personality, and you'd have thought I was a blue person.

As this knowledge registered, Lizzie nodded slowly and began to assist me in digging through her clothes. Together, we managed to find a long-sleeved scoop-necked shirt with lace accents in bright emerald green that flashed enough cleavage but covered enough skin. Lizzie held it up victoriously and looked at me questioningly, waiting for the next step. Our heads were too close together, I determined, drawing back a bit. I nodded and then found a skirt on the ground, a short, sort of beige skirt that had formerly belonged to Casey. I handed it to Lizzie despite its length because I knew it would look good, and, furthermore, I knew it would show off her legs, one of her sexiest features. I thrust the skirt at her, shaking my head in silence. God, what the hell is wrong with me?!

Then again, I don't really think God has _anything _to do with me thinking of my sister like this. When I turned to look at Lizzie, she was taking off her shirt. She didn't seem to notice or care that I could see her in her haste to get ready. The worst part of all was that I couldn't exactly decipher if I was mad at her, disgusted, or grateful for the view. Clad in her peach-colored bra and jeans, Lizzie dug around in the pile for something and her deft fingers emerged a moment later clutching the strap of a lacy black push-up bra. As if I thought that was too much (it was), Liz unclasped her bra behind her with one hand and flung the tan bra away from her skin and over her arms, baring her chest to me in profile for one long moment.

It felt interminable, and even though I knew it was a private moment, and that I shouldn't stare, I couldn't help it. I had no right to look, but my eyes were stuck that way. A horrible sense of anticipation took over me, and I was instantly hard again, so hard it hurt. The sick feeling spread from my stomach all the way down to my guts, trickling down to my toes and flooding up to my searing face and tingling fingertips. The flash of lily-pale milk and honey skin and rosebud nipples embedded themselves in my mind, and my traitorous fingers remembered the endless softness of the virgin skin that none had touched but me and longed to do it again. My fingers itched to do something so that they wouldn't fall into doing something inappropriate like wander or touch something they shouldn't... I felt like I was going to explode from just the sight, and so I bit down hard on my lower lip.

Then the straps were slung over her shoulders. and her breasts were safely covered by the black satin, and God, was I simultaneously relieved and frustrated beyond belief. It was a little better, but it was still killing me because the recent images flitted across my eyelids lazily, striking without warning. Liz struggled with the fasteners of the bra too, once, twice, three times, causing the fabric to slip and reveal tantalizing bits of flesh. "Help me, Edwin," she asked, whining, casting her begging eyes in my direction. Her voice was too low, too pleading, too undeniable. Those very eyes would be the death of me, dark and needy. I only hoped she didn't see right through me.

I moved towards her sluggishly, as if in a haze, but I was really just unwilling to come closer and... afraid of what would happen if I did. So I stood further away from her than the situation called for, as far away from her as I could stand and still do the job. My hands were cautious; I avoided touching her as best as I could and treated her like glass. My fingertips brushed against the creamy skin of her back a few times on accident, and every damn time, every last one, I almost lost it. I felt suddenly like I was fourteen all over again and barely able to control my own body, afraid that I was a rocket, unpredictable and ready to explode at any given moment. When it was done, I practically leaped away from her, even though it was difficult and uncomfortable to move in my state.

She muttered some thanks, but I didn't hear it. I just saw her lips move and bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. Because, damn, all the things those lips could do to me. I felt constricted, and I was. There was no space, and I couldn't be far enough from Lizzie, or... for that matter... close enough. I wanted to tear my hair out; I was that upset that just the tiniest movement brought me one step closer to that peak. Then Lizzie smiled brightly and pulled the bright green shirt over her head, and I was so grateful. Her clothes were like my armor; they fortified and protected me from... not hurting myself really, but doing something entirely idiotic and ill-thought-out.

I was trying to catch my breath, slamming my eyes shut and thinking about insects and my grandmother and anything that could act like a bucket of cold water, but it didn't work because my eyes opened... and suddenly Lizzie's hands were slithering down and briskly unfastening and unzipping her jeans. Would that those were my hands. I wanted to do the exact same thing; my pants had become a prison that chafed viciously at overly sensitive skin. She kicked off her pants, and I swallowed hard, managing to catch a glimpse of black panties that made me fidget uncontrollably. I managed to avert my eyes. Liz pulled the skirt up her legs, fastening it quickly, and that was scarcely better than just the underwear.

Then, torture of tortures, Lizzie turned her attention back to me, expecting advice. "So, what do you think?" she asked, bringing her hands down her body as if to show off the merchandise. I think I'm going to die. Of humiliation. From asphyxiation or gangrene or priapism. I gulped because the last thing I need to do is look at Lizzie in that shirt, to see a flash of cleavage or stare at those legs that go on forever, like Pi. Nevertheless, I fixed my eyes on her face and found something to say that wasn't about how ridiculously hot she looked right then (but in a classy way).

Therefore, I wound up talking about her hair. She was wearing her hair in high pigtails, as she'd just gotten out from practice, and it was still slightly wet. Liz tends to opt more for low pigtails or ponytails, as opposed to wearing her hair down. Her hair's pretty long, and it tends to get in her way. She puts it up to get it out of her face. It's an attractive enough look, I suppose, but hardly the most attractive way to wear her hair. Having her hair up in high pigtails like that kind of made her look like a fourth-grader, and I had little trouble telling her that. Honesty is the cornerstone of our relationship. "Liz, you've got to do something about your hair... No pigtails, okay? It makes you look like a little kid, and that's exactly what you don't want," I said succinctly, beginning to take the rubber bands out of her hair.

She pouted, looking even more like a little kid. "Come on, Edwin... I don't normally wear them this high, you know. And I like them," she protested childishly. I rolled my eyes, deciding not to mention that she was proving my point. "They're cute," she persisted defensively. I said nothing, and Lizzie's face fell a little. "Don't you think they're cute?" You know what I think is really cute right about now, Lizzie? The way you keep whining when I'm trying to do you a favor. It's almost as cute as the fact that you both acting and looking like a juvenile isn't turning me off like it should. I am a sick, sick, _sick _individual.

I forced a smile on my face, struggling with her hairbands. She'd wound them around her hair really tight, and I didn't quite get how it could possibly be comfortable for her. Then again, I don't suppose I'll ever understand women's fashion, and how they can wear so many things that are uncomfortable, not to mention painful. "I think you're freaking adorable, Liz," I managed in a syrupy tone, sure to emphasize that last word, though I said it without genuine warmth. "Unfortunately, I can't see a girl with pigtails as someone I'm sexually attracted to." Of course, my body knew full well that was a lie. I didn't really find it that attractive, but her hair wasn't enough to turn me off because it was sexy in that wickedly innocent, demented Lolita way, that you-don't-know-what-you're-doing-to-me-but-it's-going-to-be-the-death-of-me way.

Of course I knew that Casey had worn low pigtails often that last year or so, but my brother had never seemed particularly attracted to it, so I justified myself that way. Lizzie's smile faded, and she nodded, schooling her face into an apathetic expression. "Besides," I continued, trying to ameliorate the situation, "you look better with your hair down anyway. Leave it curly... He doesn't get to see it that way often. Or you could always wear a headband, I guess." Liz scowled at me; she, unlike her sisters, hates headbands. Lizzie's not exactly preppy, and she finds them immensely uncomfortable and head-constraining.

Finally, I managed to free all of her hair. Without thinking, I was running my fingers through it, smoothing and separating the locks. I didn't even notice I was doing this until Lizzie let out a soft sigh. Her eyes fluttered closed. "Mm... that feels nice, Ed," she murmured. I had a sudden flashback of the massage I'd given her a few weeks ago and drew back in horror. Lizzie's eyes opened slowly, and she looked at me in confusion. "Why'd you stop?" she asked with a pout that made my whole body jump. God. I swallowed hard, unable to speak. With her hair down, wavy, and fluffed out, and her lips pursed like that, she looked like a seductress.

It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to find words, and when I did, I was practically stammering. I was subtly trying to squirm away from her but was mostly just unsuccessful. I bit back the remark I wanted to make in a challenging if not smug voice, to say what my brother might've, "So you like that, do you?" Instead, I tried to calm myself down some and said instead, "Don't you have make-up to do?" It was by no means subtle, my change of subject, but Lizzie was panicked enough by that statement to completely ignore it. In fact, she even turned to me imploringly a moment later, holding eyeliner and various shades of eye-shadow. I shook my head, determined not to give in to her puppy-dog eyes and cute little pout. "No, Lizzie, this is where I draw the line!" I interjected as forcibly as I could manage. I absolutely refuse to help her pick out make-up, and I think that she is without a doubt more qualified to do this than I am.

Plus, I'm a guy. I shouldn't have to do this. All we care about is that the colors look pretty; we don't even want to know that you're wearing make-up. Lizzie sighed in frustration, like I was inconveniencing her, and muttering to herself, started her make-up. I took the opportunity to silently get the hell out of there.

I debated a cold shower for a few minutes but decided instead to just go up to my room. I didn't have time for that, and I needed to jerk off. Badly. I made sure to lock the door for privacy, knowing dinner was coming up soon. I didn't want someone to walk in on me in the middle of this. I sat down on my bed, leaning back to get comfortable, and unfastening my belt hurriedly. I unzipped my pants, finding the hole in my boxers and pulling myself out. My eyes rolled back into my head a little the minute my hand touched my penis, and I was so close and so worked up already that I knew it wouldn't take much. My hand closed around the base, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and started to stroke. It felt so good, and I could feel myself twitch a little every time my hand went back down, faster and faster.

My hands irritated my skin a little; I was starting to get the beginnings of callouses. My skin was so dry and so, so stiff too, that every touch aggravated me more. It wasn't soft like a girl's hand might be or smooth and slick like it might be if I was actually having sex, but this is what I have to content myself with. Grimacing a little, I reminded myself once again to get a girlfriend, preferably one who puts out. It's been way too long. I closed my eyes and imagined girls, all kinds, all the girls I'd ever been with, touching me, touching each other, anything to bring me closer to the edge. And I was almost there, almost there, but then my mind drifted out of fantasyland and suddenly I was reliving memories with Lizzie in them, and I couldn't stop myself because it worked better because I could remember how it felt and imagine a new ending. A better, _happy _ending.

Just as I was getting to a particularly good one, one of me pressing Lizzie down on the ice, feverishly tugging off layer after layer of thick, damp fabric, her making those little sounds that drove me crazy and shifting in just the right way, I heard a sound. The unmistakable sound of my door creaking open. My eyes flew open, my hand jumped off of my skin, and I slid backwards on my bed reflexively. And then, of course, because this is my life, after all, and these awkward situations are apparently normal to Edwin Venturi, by which I mean that they fit a clearly established pattern of unfortunate happenstance, Lizzie walked in the door like she owned the place. "Liz-zie?" was all I managed to rasp, feeling hot with shame and wishing I could hide it. The part that really made me burn was that I wished I could put my hand back on the hot skin where it belonged and have her watch, that I itched to do it, to finish it, even more because she was in the room.

Bless her naivety. If only it had lasted longer. When she first barged in, she didn't even bother to look down because her movements were fast and jerky, not sexy. Her tone was annoyed at the very least and more than a bit bitchy, which probably meant that she'd had to deal with something rather irritating, such as our parents. This all meant that Derek wasn't there, meaning my sister was very unsatisfied (but not even half as unsatisfied as me). She would inevitably take it out on me. Her eyes flashed angrily. She was in the middle of saying something, "Ed-win... God. Do you _know_ how long I've been calling your name?"

I bit down hard on my bottom lip. That was not something I needed to hear her say. I don't know, Liz; was it longer or shorter than the time I've spent thinking your name just now? I hadn't moaned it yet, but I'd been _so_ close. Thinking of her alone was bad enough, but saying her name out-loud while touching myself just crosses a line. It would make it real. And then Liz, who'd been disinterested, suddenly looked down and saw me in all my naked, turgid glory.

She gasped and stared with her mouth wide open, lips parted in that surprised o-shape. You can only imagine what that did to me. A little bit of glistening fluid leaked out, but Lizzie continued to stare in fascination. "Oh," she breathed, flushed, clearly somewhat embarrassed but also something else... intrigued, maybe? I let out a pained groan. That soft syllable almost did me in, I swear. If I wasn't so mortified and so horribly curious (by which I actually mean eagerly anticipating, hopeful almost) as to what she was going to do next, I would have... Shaking her head and snapping to her senses, Liz turned around and shut the door. The sound of the door slamming made me jump a little because I'd been pretty gone too.

I fumbled around, attempting to fix my boxers and cover up, but suddenly Lizzie was at my side, snatching my wrist, preventing me from doing so. I swallowed nervously, glancing over at her and her rapt, focused stare that simultaneously unnerved me and turned me on. Strangely, she did not apologize or attempt to look away, nor did she even attempt to pretend she was comfortable with the situation. Instead, she merely stared at that part of me, holding fast to my wrist. I didn't know what the hell to do, so I waited. You must understand that I was beyond mortified by all of this. I wanted a black hole to tear me up, atom by atom, and swallow me whole, transport me to another part of space where stepsisters didn't exist, didn't stare at me with those wide, dark eyes. As if that one occasion a couple weeks ago with the back massage gone horribly awry wasn't enough (and, in some respects, that incident was truly worse, since she _knew _she'd given me the erection), my sister walks in on me jacking myself off to... Oh, God, I cannot even finish that sentence. I felt so dirty at that moment that not even a chemical shower could've washed away all the toxic energy on my skin.

Continuing to stun me or perhaps singlehandedly send me to an asylum, Liz actually reached out a hand, hesitantly, as if she didn't realize she was doing it, with the intent to touch me. Damn if my eyes didn't roll back in my head a little bit, and I didn't get that little bit harder expecting the feel of cold, soft hands on the sensitive, long-suffering skin that needed it so damn bad. My whole body was practically screaming for her touch. But as her hand came closer, I knew it was wrong, no matter how turned on, no matter... no matter how much... So I grabbed her wrist, wrenching it away, grabbing it just a little too hard, so I knew it would hurt. "Don't you touch me," I growled, forcing myself to look her in the eyes, unable to say her name. Oh, but I wanted to.

Her mouth fell open, and she couldn't meet my eyes. Her eyes darted all around the room for a while before finally settling on the point she'd been staring at before, and my blood blazed like bonfire. "Ed," she said pleadingly, but I ignored her, ignored the imploring eyes, the restless fingers. Her grip had loosened on my wrist, and I took the opportunity to pull my hand away and try to cover myself, to push the confounded organ clumsily back into my boxers in an attempt to regain my dignity. I was white-hot with ignominy and probably more uncomfortable than I have ever been in my entire life, which is saying quite a bit.

Turns out, of course, that it's a tricky task to accomplish with the use of only one hand, unlike the action that led to this mess. When you factor in that I could barely use the hand I had at that because just a fleeting touch was enough to almost break me, the task became near Herculean, but I managed somewhat awkwardly and just a bit messily, to do it without exploding entirely, which would have been unbearable. I grunted faintly, unfortunately still just as turned on as before. Lizzie found the words I couldn't get out. "Let me help you with that," she said in a voice that was too low, a little too husky. She pulled my pants up the rest of the way, zipping them up and doing the top button. I wasn't any more comfortable with that gesture, but the situation was so awkward that I just let her do it.

"Thanks," I muttered gruffly, pulling away from her as much as I could, avoiding her gaze. She looked like she wanted to say something, but I knew I couldn't let her. Whatever it was that she wanted to say would lead to nothing good. We were still sitting so close, though, and there was such a softness to the moment. As Derek would say, I need to get a grip. I cleared my throat and made myself ask, "Is Derek here yet?" Derek's name was the equivalent of a cold shower, accompanied by a prickling, unpleasant feeling and a bitter, salty taste in the back of my throat.

A dark, unhappy look flickered in Lizzie's eyes, and she drew back, just as I'd wanted her to do. She shook her head softly. "No, not yet." She sighed, leaning back on my bed a little. She was entirely too comfortable in my room, on my bed, among my things. "But the table's all set, and Nanny Mo has been safely escorted to the bus-stop, and Mom's finished cooking. So we're eating. I was sent to, um... come get you." She looked down, remembering what she'd walked in on. The reddish tint of her cheeks showed her embarrassment. I nodded in response and got up, trying not to dwell on what had just happened.

"Well, wouldn't want to disappoint Nora," I quipped, trying to pretend this whole incident had never happened. I was trying to be the same old funny Edwin. I would've offered Lizzie a hand to help her up, but my hands were dirty. Nevertheless, she rose, smoothing her clothes, and followed me out the door, offering me a tiny smile. "I'm gonna go wash my hands, okay?" I told her, pausing in front of the bathroom door.

Lizzie nodded vigorously before suddenly realizing the inappropriateness of that gesture. Alluding to the former problem clearly does not help in pretending it never happened. I turned and went into the bathroom, scrubbing my hands with the soap pretty vigorously. I tried to lighten things up by carrying on a conversation with her. "Look, I know you're a pseudo-vegetarian, but please tell me that Nora didn't make any tofu-loafu. Or anything with soy. I couldn't handle it."

She poked her head in the bathroom, frowning. I scowled at her over my shoulder before she could say anything. "Don't look at me like that. You know full-well how nasty her meatless meatloaf is. And it never sits right with my stomach... I just... I don't like eating things that are floppy. Besides, you don't like tofu-loafu either. Dad is the only person who even pretends to stomach it, and that's just because he doesn't want to sleep on the couch," I argued, almost shuddering just thinking of it. I threw a glance over my shoulder to find Lizzie agreeing with me, a wry smile on her lips.

"You forgot Casey. She practically swears by the stuff." I exchanged a knowing look with Lizzie. "She says she loves it... eats it all the time when we're here... And she's always cooking it when she's stressing about something." We both knew what that meant. She says she loves it, but does she really? That's Casey for you, all right, always confused about her real feelings towards things. If she wants to like something, she'll say she loves it, even if that's not the case. What I'm not sure Lizzie (or Casey) realizes is that tofu is more than just a healthy food option for her; it's a punishment. It's bland, flavorless, rubbery, boring... the opposite of exciting... and it's _safe_, too. Doesn't burn your mouth, doesn't make your eyes water, doesn't make your heart pound.

My sister cleared her throat. "But no, fortunately, we are not having loaf of any kind. Mom knows Derek hates that kind of stuff. I think we're having turkey. Or chicken. I don't know, but... there's salad! You should have some, Edwin. It'd be good for you," Lizzie replied awkwardly. I made a face at her. She's always trying to get me to eat healthier, and I would, really, if healthy food didn't taste like compost. Me, eat salad? My sister is clearly delusional. Well, I mean, she was already delusional because she's irrationally in love with Derek, but this just proves that her delusions have spread to other places. Still, I was beyond relieved that we weren't having tofu for dinner.

I rinsed off my hands and turned off the faucet, drying my hands with a towel. "C'mon, Liz, you know I don't eat leafy green things. Plants are meant to stay in the ground, not to be uprooted and wind up in my stomach," I countered, wiping my hands one last time before smirking at her. I dropped the towel into the sink and followed Lizzie out the door and down the stairs. We continued bantering, and it was almost like things were normal between us again.

The rest of the family was waiting for us, minus Derek. Marti was sitting on her chair, kicking her legs and carrying on a very loud and animated conversation with her friend. Dad was trying to get Sebastian into his seat, which practically involved buckles. Nora was in and out of the kitchen, bringing in dishes and setting them on the table. As usual, I sat next to Lizzie, in Casey's former chair. Derek's chair was still a little sacred; I didn't dare to touch it for fear of reprisal. We said grace, a rarity, and waited a good fifteen minutes for Derek to show. When he didn't, we started eating.

It was a quiet, subdued affair. The kids were disappointed, especially Marti and Sebastian, who lived for Derek's visits and longed to play with him. Lizzie thinks she's in love with him, so I was the lone exception who was relieved that he hadn't shown up. We did have chicken, but there was also an extremely mysterious casserole I was forced to endure. Derek finally showed up some fifteen minutes into dinner, a full thirty minutes late. That's hardly fashionable, in my opinion. Derek plunked down into his seat, grinning like a madman. There was an insanity in his eyes, and he seemed more than a little on edge, just a bit maniacal, not at all himself.

"Hell-oooo Family!" he proclaimed loudly, settling into his seat. I raised an eyebrow. "What's the news?" he continued, helping himself to the food. Derek just piled it on his plate, which wouldn't have been unusual had Nora made any dishes he was particularly fond of. He didn't exactly look famished from hockey practice either, even though all of us knew how much time Derek had been pouring into that lately. Furthermore, Derek didn't usually ask that many questions about our lives, and, when he did ask, the questions were usually pointed, directed at a specific person about a specific topic.

Marti started chattering inanely about her day, and Derek was rather silent, mostly nodding. He barely even offered any smart-ass comments. Sebastian joined in, interrupting Marti (who was annoyed, to say the least) to ask Derek to play with him after dinner. I wasn't surprised he forgot to include me in those plans. Derek agreed to play with Sebastian but not as heartily as he usually would have. I was starting to think that something was wrong. He did not seem wholly himself.

Then Derek turned himself on me, a smirk playing on his lips. That's the Derek I know and love. "So, bro, how's the lovelife?" he asked bluntly. See what I meant about direct questions? I swallowed hard; I hadn't been expecting that... and, well, who flat-out asks someone about their lovelife without any tact whatsoever?! Derek Venturi does. Of course. When I didn't answer, Derek sought to clarify. "You know, that girl you were telling me about? Have you told her yet?" Derek drawled, eyes flicking over to Lizzie pointedly.

Lizzie, however, was too joy-stricken by the fact that he'd looked at her, even for just a second, to realize his intention. I groaned under my breath, and the expression on my face turned grim. Nevertheless, I met Derek's gaze levelly. "Nope. Guess I take after my big brother that way, eh?" I retorted equally intentionally. Derek's smile froze on his face, and I decided to continue twisting the knife a little. "You know... Never talking about my feelings until it's... too late." I cocked an eyebrow, preparing myself for his response.

Derek gritted his teeth, clearly not amused by my hinting. His eyes flashed dangerously. The rest of the family was, I'm sure, completely confused. "Oh, but little brother, you're the _sensitive_ one, remember? If you ever want anything to happen, you have to tell her. Because otherwise you won't muster up the courage to do anything about it," Derek rejoined icily. That pissed me off a lot, frankly, because I'm trying not to do anything, and it's a lot harder than Derek realizes. Derek was basically saying that he's got more guts than I do, but he doesn't realize how much more it takes to fight this. He just gives into his impulses without a second thought, while I'm the one who's every day trying not to mess up his family. Derek's stare was dark and cutting like a knife. My jaw tightened in response.

Suddenly Lizzie realized that we were talking about me and a girl, so of course she had to say something about it. It bothered me a little too because I'd opened up my mouth, fully prepared to let loose something scathing. She interrupted, of course. "What's this? You and a _girl_? But I-I didn't even know you were interested in anyone! Who is she? Do I know her? Why won't you tell her?" Lizzie spat out in a rush, perking up a bit. It's hilarious, really; my lovelife, or lack thereof, has got her all a-flutter. Clearly when she asked if she knew her, she was wondering if we were talking about Sylvia. I rolled my eyes at her; the thought of me getting a girl is really that stunning?

Derek batted his eyelashes, amused. He nodded, chuckling a little. "Oh, Lizzie, I'd say you know her very well. You two are pretty close... closer than sisters, even," Derek told her matter-of-factly. He looked very proud of himself for saying this. When I turned to see Lizzie's reaction, her jaw had dropped, and she was gaping at me in disbelief. When she recovered sufficiently, she shot me a look of equal parts disgust and disapproval. I realized a moment later just who she thought I was crushing on, and a look of horror passed over my own face. I sought immediately to rectify the problem.

Stabbing my chicken, I countered, "Really, Derek? I thought that was your thing." Sisters. Now, I know I'm a hypocrite, but it was the nastiest thing I could think of to say off the bat. Derek scowled but then ran his hand over his face, as if realizing how Lizzie had taken his comment. His eyes communicated an apology to me.

He took a deep breath. "Think it runs in the family, maybe." And that's as close to an admission as anyone's ever going to get. Then Derek flashed his charming smile and resumed torturing me. "You know, Lizzie sure sounds curious, Ed. Maybe you should tell her, huh?" Derek persisted, glancing over at Lizzie. You can bet she soaked up every second of his stare. I grimaced, glowering at Derek. I needed to say something to cut him off before Lizzie got too curious and made me answer a question I didn't want to answer. And one of my slick little insinuations wasn't going to do much this time.

"So," I said, pausing, "how's hockey?" It was a completely transparent attempt to change the subject, I admit. Derek snorted, giving me a look. He saw what I was trying to do, and of course he wasn't about to let me get away with it.

Derek shoved half the chicken in his mouth, answering while swallowing, so of course he was completely unintelligible. He burped and swallowed (real classy, by the way) and then waved it all off. "But I don't want to talk about hockey right now. I've been living and breathing it lately... and I want to talk about you, little bro. So, you getting any?" Derek decreed, raising an eyebrow. My glare intensified, and I shoveled food in my mouth so that I wouldn't have to talk.

"De-rek! That kind of talk is not appropriate for the dinner table! Think of your siblings!" Nora scolded. She looked just a bit scandalized. Marti just rolled her eyes (she's not that innocent), while Sebastian looked very confused. Derek scoffed at Nora's warning and took a hearty swig of his drink.

My evil older brother stared at me expectantly and let out a laugh, looking to Nora. "But Nora, I _am _thinking of my siblings!" Yeah, by trying to matchmake them with each other. After several tense, awkwardly silent moments, Derek took my silence for an answer and laughed. "Sometimes I forget that high school's so very different for you. Really, Ed, you're missing out. Think of what you could do if you lived up to your full potential... or should I say _who_ you could do..." Derek drawled, snickering to himself. Triple-D has never been subtle. Still, I resent that remark; Derek's the underachiever here, not me! Derek's the one who wastes his time and never leads up to his full potential. I rolled my eyes at him and tried to make a statement in response that wouldn't be quiet as harsh as the one I was imagining.

"Well, Derek, maybe I realized about four years ahead of you that it doesn't pay to play. Maybe _Casey's_ feminist lessons about respecting women just worked better on me," I retorted sharply. That actually was better than my original response, which involved saying something along the lines of "all that lifestyle gets you is syphilis and gonorrhea." The comment still achieved its intended effect, though, as Derek simultaneously grimaced and winced, and I didn't offend the parentals.

However, you can say many things about Derek, but you can't say that he doesn't think on his feet. Derek's rarely speechless, and he's never one to let you have the last word. Insults are Derek's forte. So, consummate liar and actor (really, he ought to be in front of the camera rather than behind it!) that he is, Derek made a big show of rolling his eyes at me. "Really, Edwin, you wound me." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but I gave him a look because, well, he had flinched, hadn't he? Derek paused deliberately, and a bitter version of that famous smirk spread across his face almost gleefully. "Ed, it's obvious that you need to get some. You're so uptight and repressed... that you're making yourself completely miserable. You've got to open yourself up and stop denying what you want... Now, we all know you're a commitment kind of guy, so why don't you just confess your love to the lady so you can get laid already?" Derek announced decisively, enunciating his words, drawing them out.

For the second time that day, I was completely mortified. I tried to cover my face with my hands, but that didn't drown out the sound of Derek's obnoxious laughter, nor did it make me forget about the knowing, inconspicuous looks he was probably sending Lizzie's way only for her to misinterpret them as a sign of interest. "Derek Venturi, you are not to use language like that at my table, or I'll send you to bed with no dinner! Erm, no dessert! If you don't stop... teasing Edwin and corrupting your younger siblings with all your sex talk... why, I'll... I'll kick you out of this house!" Nora threatened in a high, wavering voice.

Naturally, Derek wouldn't take that seriously. He rarely takes anything in life seriously, for starters, and Nora's attempt at discipline was useless at his age. Threats coming from Nora were ridiculous, especially when most of us were now so old that they'd become idle. Derek snorted and proceeded to laugh his ass off. "I'm not five, Nora. I've got my own place, thanks, and I'm not even swearing!" Derek managed to choke out between guffaws. I brought my hands down from my eyes to find Nora scowling at him. She's been more than a bit hormonal lately.

At that precise moment, C broke the tense silence by damn near shouting, "WHAT'S SEXT?!" Okay, I'll admit it; even I laughed at that one. "Why won't you just tell me what SEXT is?! Is it some grown-up secret or something?! I wanna know what it is! NO ONE EVER TELLS ME ANYTHING!!!" Confused and annoyed that no one would tell him what it meant, C just kept repeating himself over and over until he was shrieking hysterically. Nora and Dad both threw Derek dirty looks, but Derek had never said the word sex once; Nora had. I smirked a little because he reminded me of Marti. Sebastian hadn't realized yet that you have to snoop in this house to find out anything. The majority of the family was in stitches over that comment, especially Derek, whose laugh was a series of explosions. Like nuclear reactions on the sun, his laughter simultaneously held him together and tore him apart, allowing him to painfully continue existing.

I threw a pointed glance at Derek, nudging Lizzie with my shoulder. "You really picked a winner, Liz," I muttered sarcastically. Derek alone was still laughing and making an ass out of himself.

She frowned at me, looking over at him. Her lips tightened, indicating that she saw what I saw but did not want to admit it. Instead, Liz hit me in the chest a bit too hard, giving me a disapproving look. She tried her best to keep her voice down. "Ed-_win_, he's your **brother**!" Lizzie protested emphatically. Something about the way she said my name made me uncomfortable, the way she drew out the second syllable, so like her sister.

Derek had by this point stopped laughing, but he was scarcely any better. He opened his mouth and shoveled food in, almost chuckling to himself and coming very close to choking. He even dropped some and failed to pick it up. He guzzled down glass after glass of water, making faces afterwards like he was disappointed with it. I suddenly, I saw the signs. I heard the slur in his drawl, saw the lack of focus in his eyes. And then it hit me with the force of an asteroid colliding with a planet, minus the debris and instant death. Derek was not only drunk, but he was at least halfway to being completely wasted.

I rolled my eyes at Liz, gesturing to Derek discreetly. "Well, your pony of choice showed up drunk to family dinner and persists in making mildly inappropriate statements, so I think I'm entitled to comment..." Lizzie glowered at me. I shrugged. "You sure can pick 'em." Lizzie's head whipped to face me fast, offended.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" She just barely managed to lower her voice to avoid attracting Nora's notice. Nora was preoccupied with scolding Derek and simultaneously helping my father with Sebastian. You see, I've gone over Lizzie's dating habits; I've analyzed them, and I've discovered a pattern. Now, this pattern happens to be based on my personal opinion, and it is not without exceptions, but it is most definitely a pattern nonetheless.

Nevertheless... I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Our conversation was rather quiet, mostly under our breath (as we have not yet perfected telepathy), and Derek was preoccupied with something or other. I think he was texting someone. "You always pick losers, Lizzie. Der-Bear over there... Jamie-" I began to point out rather wearily, as if I was explaining it to a child. After all, that is generally the common denominator between the so-called men she chooses to date or like.

Hot-tempered Lizzie interrupted me, fiercely defending her friend. "Is a good friend!" Well, that's in the eye of the friend. I just find Jamie to be an annoying interloper with ulterior motives for being my sister's friend. Those motives being that he wants to get with her and is using me to do it.

I rolled my eyes at her, making a face. "But he's about as interesting as looking at a dead cell under a microscope. Which is why you dumped him," I pointed out helpfully. Okay, so maybe I was just a little bit smug. That was also me not-so-subtly planting a seed against her hooking up with Jamie when he eventually tells Lizzie how he feels, assuming he actually grows a pair and does it. That, in and of itself, is extremely doubtful. Plus, Liz, need I remind you that you were cheating on him? With **me**? For _several_ months? Liz sighed and reluctantly nodded because I did have her there.

She screwed up her face, taking a sip of her water. She blinked and then looked at me primly. "Yeah, well, I just think you're still bitter that I chose him over you," Liz retorted quietly. She paused a moment, glancing over at the mess that was Sebastian and our parents. He'd somehow managed to get his dinner all over him. And George. Liz leaned towards me, elbow on the table, chin on her hand. "And if I _had_ chosen you, you'd be one of those so-called "losers", so you ought to shut your mouth," she remarked coolly, effectively shutting me up. I wasn't even aware that was an option, that I was one of the options!

Somehow, I recovered from that slightly alarming statement, undettered. "Anyway... not to mention Teddy, Tony, Malvin... who, by the way, never talked and had about as much personality as a glass of milk... Allan O'Felon—sorry, Fa-llon. I just got confused, what with him being a felon and all... and, of course, your crush on dear Coach Scott," I continued, undaunted. Let's just say I didn't like him either. You don't really like someone who demonstrates wrestling moves on you. Or, for that matter, when he tries to pull the wool over your sisters' eyes. And make everyone fall in love with him. My sisters are breakable, fragile creatures, despite their outer appearances, and I will break someone who even attempts to break off a piece of any one of them. Ugh, and Scott wasn't even that good-looking.

Unfortunately, I happened to have forgotten that we never told Liz about that particular incident. Some nonsense about Casey wanting Lizzie to remember her first crush as a decent human being and idealize him forever and ever. Obviously I was not in favor of this because, as her older brother, I wisely thought she ought to learn that men are often complete scumbuckets and that she should watch out for them. Telling her about Scott would have, in my opinion, taught her how to recognize slimeballs and helped her a great deal in the future, preventing her from making most of her horrible dating mistakes. But noooo, _Casey_ wanted Lizzie to have faith in the male sex, so she had to go and keep her mouth shut. Naturally, Derek, who was already feeling funny about the whole thing (nausea, insomnia, lack of concentration, insanity, _feelings_), went along with what she wanted. "What was wrong with him?!" Lizzie interjected loudly, confused and somewhat irritated.

Derek looked over at us, suddenly interested in our conversation, having realized that we were discussing Coach Snot, as Marti so aptly christened him. She's usually a good judge of character, current boyfriend excluded. I rolled my eyes, turning to look at Lizzie. "Nothing, other than the fact that he had a racket dating the older sisters of the soccer players he coached," I rejoined easily, raising my eyebrow and daring her to challenge me. I crossed my arms over my chest and kept staring at her expectantly.

Her eyes alighted with fire, burning hot and cold at the same time. "He _did_ not!" she protested, outraged I was even suggesting it. She spat it out as if I was the wretched one demeaning a good man's name, and I was disgusted, to say the least. I'm her brother; would I lie to her? Okay, fine, I might... but not about something important. Not about something like this. I know I'm not exactly the most unbiased opinion on the idea of Lizzie with guys, but I do ultimately want what's best for her.

Incidentally, shouldn't that whole incident have taught Lizzie not to compete with Casey for a guy? Casey _always_ wins. Always. Even when she's not interested in him. And when you're going after a guy that only sees Casey, any interest he possibly has in you is purely sisterly. Because, whatever this bizarro-thing is that we don't talk about, it's still _there_. Even if we don't speak its proper name or acknowledge it or classify it. It's still _there_, buried just below the surface, and we're all, every one of us, aware of it. No matter how much none of us wants to go there for fear of what we might find or discover.

I was feeling a bit weird, perhaps decidedly off-kilter, but I managed to shake it off like a pro. I suddenly realized that I'd assumed Derek's part in this conversation, and I suddenly felt all too much like I was playing the role of the antagonist stepbrother. "He did so. Four at one time, including Casey... You can even ask Derek. Derek's the one who exposed him," I countered, shooting a meaningful glance over at Derek. As if on cue, Derek snorted, thus confirming everything I'd just said.

Amazingly, that was enough to satisfy Lizzie. Just a snort from her beloved, not the cold, hard facts from Edwin. Honestly, though, after what happened today, the last thing I need to think of is anything hard... Lizzie sighed, almost leaning against my shoulder. Her eyelashes fluttered. She was obviously staring at Derek, who was completely oblivious. I believe he was shoving something large and meaty into his mouth, and, yes, I do realize how inappropriate that sounds. Yes, I do think of sex all the time, in fact, and it's horrible (the thinking about it all the time. The actual act is far, far less painful and much more amusing)! "Derek's _wonderful_..." she murmured dreamily. She was practically drooling.

Crushing on him's one thing. Trying to make out with him in his sleep is another still. But giving him goo-goo eyes at the dinner table in front of everyone is a bit much, even for me. My stomach churned at the sight; I could feel the heartburn coming on, and I did not feel good at all. "Shut up, Liz. You're making me nauseous," I snapped somewhat carelessly. Something in that particular statement did not exactly sit right with me, so I amended it by changing the subject, "And we were talking about Scott, who was an asshole..."

Sure enough, when Derek wasn't paying attention, Lizzie changed her tune. "He was **not**!" Liz snarled protectively. Sometimes I often wonder if she listens when I speak. I flat-out told you that he's a wannabe womanizer. The man dated your sister and three other girls at the same time, and he just coached your team to hook the big sisters with a phony sensitive act. Her voice stood out in the relative silence that had developed.

"Biased much?" was my rather lame rejoinder. I'd gotten fed up with all the arguing I'd been doing lately. Lizzie opened her mouth to reply, rolling her eyes at me, ready to shout something. However, imagine my surprise when Nora interrupted our little argument. I hadn't realized that she'd managed to fix things with C, let alone that she was paying attention to our slightly hostile conversation.

"Edwin, Lizzie, stop arguing! For crying out loud, you're graduating this year. You're practically adults, and you ought to start acting like it... You're almost worse than Derek and Casey," Nora demanded, raising her voice. And then, with that comment, everyone sort of froze. We remained prisoners of that awkward, cold silence, frozen and waiting for a response. Derek seemed to have turned to stone. The expression completely disappeared from his face, and his whole body tightened. Dad and Mom looked confused and anxious. Marti's eyes flashed suspicion.

Lizzie's eyes shot down almost shamefully. Her gaze went demurely to her lap and her tightly folded hands. As if she didn't even want to wonder or entertain the thoughts evoked by the silence, the change in the temperature of the room. We stayed like that for a long time, until I decided I had to do something to break the awkwardness of the moment. I looked at Derek, who was wearing his most unreadable pokerface, and cleared my throat. "Um, can I be excused? I think I need to have a talk with Derek." Nora nodded, resettling her napkin in her lap, looking strangely relieved. Derek nodded, a bit of the darkness fading from his expression, and got up from the table in silence. Together, we left the table and heading upstairs. Derek went up first, wobbling a little, hanging on to the banister like a lifeline.

I followed him all the way up the narrow, worn stairs to the attic. Derek opened the door and made himself comfortable on the old, dusty couch I sometimes studied on. I sat down in my computer chair and rolled over to him, truly comfortable for one of the first times all night. "So," Derek said, pausing briefly, "Why haven't you told Lizzie? Are you scared or something?" Only Derek could manage to forget his own problems so easily and act as if he'd never had an issue with anything.

"I haven't told Lizzie because I'm not... It's not that I'm a chicken. It's not that... It's just... I don't feel that way about her, Derek," I tried to tell him. Derek crossed his arms over his chest and snorted loudly, still not believing me. I sighed, frustrated. Conversations with Derek are very frustrating because it's impossible to argue with him; if he thinks he's right about something, he'll hold to it until the end and won't hear a word you say against it. Or if he does pay attention to what you're saying, he'll twist your words to support his points. Derek's also very defensive if he feels threatened by what you're saying, and it's impossible to tell when he's lying. But Derek isn't only the Lord of the Lies. He's the King of Denial, master navigator of that river in Egypt; and he knows every trick, every curve, every current and eddy like the back of his hand.

While it was necessary that I straighten everything out with Derek, Lizzie wasn't the only reason I wanted to talk to him. I leaned forward a little, eying him with thinly-veiled curiosity, I'm sure. "Want to tell me why you came to dinner drunk off your ass?" I asked bluntly. Derek looked surprised that I had the guts to ask that, but other than that he just shrugged, acting as if he wasn't drunk at all. I couldn't smell the liquor on his breath, but I knew he was drunk. That was why his tongue was loose, why his carefully-maintained appearance was sloppy, why his maneuvers were clumsy. He ignored the question, as Derek always does when he doesn't want to discuss something with you. It was another sign that my brother was out-of-sorts; ordinarily he would've smoothly evaded the topic, lied, made a joke of it, or had a swift retort to silence me.

Instead, Derek just looked around the room, a little out of it and oddly evasive. The silence was beginning to frustrate me when Derek suddenly perked up. He had something in his hands, a piece of paper he'd pilfered from my backpack, and he was grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "So, let me get this straight... You _don't_ have feelings for Lizzie?" he asked slowly. I nodded, perking up a bit, glad he was understanding me for a change. Derek placed a finger on his lip, frowning. "Then, bro, if you don't mind me asking, why are you writing her love letters as her secret admirer?" Derek continued smugly, waving the notes in my face triumphantly.

It was my turn to wince. Derek continued smirking wickedly, almost like he was himself again. "Dear Lizzie, I wish I could tell you who I really am. But I'm scared... because you're so beautiful and smart and talented. Honestly, being around you intimidates me. You're so completely out of my league... You're just _that_ amazing," Derek read, adding his own particular flourish. He'd chosen a particularly treacly one to read, of course, just to embarrass me. My cheeks were hot again, and I hated it.

"There's a perfectly legitimate explanation for that!" I exclaimed, violently snatching the notes back from him and putting them in the backpack. Derek gave me a look, and I realized how terribly guilty I sounded. Nevertheless, I thought I ought to at least try to explain, so I hurried to do so. "Jamie... he wants me to help him get back with Lizzie because he's in love with her. And so the idiot sort of tricked me into... helping him, and so I'm stuck writing these stupid love notes for him, but obviously I don't know what I'm doing... And I'm writing them as Jamie, so they're supposed to be pathetic, in my opinion, because Jamie is a freaking pansy, and so I try to make them as pathetic as possible because Lizzie reads them and makes fun of them and..." I rambled, anxiety growing with every word that came out of my mouth.

Okay, so maybe I can't really explain this. It might be the truth, but who's going to believe it?

Derek just looked very, very amused. I could tell by the still-present smirk that he didn't believe a damn word I said, though, and I deflated a little. He's got the right to be suspicious; if the situations were reversed, I probably wouldn't believe him either. Derek gave me a look, lips still turning upward. "It's all right, kid. You don't have to lie to me." Only I wasn't lying to you, D. I closed my eyes briefly and resisted the urge to scream until I lost my voice. Derek scooted forward, patting me on the shoulder affectionately. "That's real cute. A little pathetic, but we can't all be as cool as me," Derek elaborated. I glared at him, biting down words that would cross that invisible line.

Derek smirked then, brandishing the damn letter. "A word of advice, though, don't list her qualities. She already knows what she is, kid, but she doesn't know how you see her." I gave Derek a look because I'm pretty damn sure she knows exactly how I see her. Nevertheless, Derek persisted in giving me advice (only what in the name of Einstein does he know about writing love letters?). "Flattery will get you everywhere, yes, but you've got to be more descriptive. Describe how you feel. Tell her why she's so amazing. Tell her what you like about her. Make yourself stand out from all the cardboard cut-outs she's been with because you're _different_ from them." I was awestruck because Derek had used the f-word. It was all true and strangely intelligent for my boneheaded brother (then again, he is the Great Seducer of Women); I am many things, and different is at the top of that list. I can't yet figure out if that's fortunate or unfortunate. Derek smiled grimly. "Never underestimate the power of words."

Then Derek did the weirdest thing. He leaned back in the couch and sighed, looking suddenly weary and so much older. He looked like he was struggling with something, and the battle was taking a lot out of him. Then Derek looked me dead in the eyes, a resolute, determined glint appearing in the depths of his gaze. His jaw was taut, his lips a thin line. "Edwin, I _know_ how you feel," he admitted with a level of sincerity I wasn't accustomed to from him. There was that cursed f-word again, a million times worse to Derek than the real word. He opened his mouth, staring into space as if thinking, like he wanted to tell me something. Thick, gritty honesty settled in his throat, cutting off the air, a lump he couldn't swallow. His brow furrowed as he was debating it, but ultimately he decided against it, stopping short of saying anything.

Derek swallowed hard, and suddenly I saw the dark circles under his eyes. I saw the grimace on his face, the strange, pained set of his eyes. In the dim light of my room, he was tired and unhealthy and stripped, lean and thin. The angles of his face stood out sharply, magnified by the shadows that seemed to envelope him now. He looked like a man who'd been ravaged by time, who'd done and seen so much but was desperately missing something. This was not my brother. "How does Lizzie feel?" Derek inquired seriously. His voice was scratchy like static electricity and tree bark.

He was making me worry. Something about his presence made me uncomfortable. I didn't like to see my brother like that, so clearly not... what? Not happy? Not healthy? I couldn't even find words to explain it, let alone understand why my brother was like that. But it hurt me to see him like this. It took me a while to speak as a result. "She doesn't..." I decided it was futile to even fight now, to try and say that I wasn't in love with her. What did it matter? Derek would never believe me... and I thought that maybe if I pushed this a little, I could find out why he was so changed. That it was related to... something.

I took a deep breath. "She doesn't feel the same," I admitted, trying to act like that upset me. I was tired, too, and I saw this very naked look in Derek's eyes that I couldn't decipher. I decided to hint at the true situation of things and see how he reacted. "She's in love with this other guy... He's older, your age... the popular sort. You know the type. Confident and cocky, stubborn as hell, great hair, a magnetic personality... trouble. She's crazy about him. But he's completely oblivious," I continued pointedly. Derek nodded, frowning a bit, but he didn't seem to notice the connection or else the one he made was the wrong connection entirely. I needed to make him see, though, to make him understand. "I think it's because he's unavailable. I try to tell her that he just sees her as a sister, but she won't listen. And he's... there's a complicated relationship with him and her sister, too... He's... everything I'm not, you know?" I persisted, injecting a heavy honesty into my voice.

Now, I like to think I was being pretty obvious about it. I basically described Derek, even including statements such as "your age" or "you know the type." I even tried to give it an increased level of specificity by describing their relationship and the pink elephant of Derek and Casey's strained relationship (for a change, the hint at her existence received no reaction, no instantaneous awkward silence). The only way I could've been more obvious was by flat-out saying that she liked _him_, Derek Venturi. I had to bite it down because, I reminded myself, the small matter of Lizzie's feelings for my brother really wasn't my affair. Derek's generally a fairly intuitive guy, so you'd think he'd pick up on this right away. However, Derek completely misinterpreted what I was saying. He blinked, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "Wait, so you're saying that Lizzie's in love with **Truman**?" Derek blurted.

While Truman is a good guess, Lizzie in particular disliked him more than just about anyone, which makes it very unlikely that she would ever fall in love with him. Furthermore, Truman and Casey had been officially broken up for a good three years. That wasn't to say that he still didn't sometimes insinuate himself back into her life because he had, many a time, hoping to get back with her. That was the Truman trademark, coming back around just when you thought he was gone for good and surprising you with a thousand apologies and assurances of earnest love. He's like a boomerang... or a bloodhound, rather, because he's got Casey's scent and won't stop until he finds her. The gesture I answered Derek's question with was a combination of a vigorous head shake and a smack to the face. I couldn't believe he'd gotten it so wrong. Then again, it shouldn't have surprised me. It's just another round of Derek Denies Denial; if he doesn't want to notice something, he just... doesn't.

Well, at least Derek looked relieved that she wasn't in love with Truman. Oddly enough, though, he didn't ask again or seem concerned by the fact that she was in love with another guy. He just nodded, almost to himself, and leaned back into the couch, exhaling slowly. I almost asked him about his attitude, but Derek beat me to the punch. He smiled faintly, shifting a bit on the couch, holding his head up to catch my gaze. "Don't you worry about that, Ed. You can change that," he told me sagely, grinning a bit. I saw a shadow of the cocky brother I knew in there. However, he didn't realize just how hard I'd tried to get Lizzie to stop feeling this way about him.

A lot of this conversation we'd been having had surprised me, but, as always, Derek saved his biggest surprises for the end. He squinted at me, eying me as if judging me. Suddenly very sober and eerily serious, Derek steepled his fingers, straightening and moving towards me in a way that intimidated me more than I'd like to admit. His face was blank but hard, and his eyes bored into me like drills. "So, what's going down with you two, then?" he demanded in a tone drenched in innuendo. The look on his face was unpleasant, to say the least; Lizzie's overprotective big brother had returned to have a little chat with the potential suitor. I stared at Derek blankly partly because I didn't know what to say since I didn't know what was happening with us either and partly because I didn't want to tell him anyway.

He did not appreciate or respect my silence. "What about what I saw in the car, Ed? What do you call that?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow expectantly. I stiffened at the comment, which made me sweat. Honestly, I had no idea what he had or hadn't seen, and the whole thought terrified me. However, I did know how pissed off Derek had become as a result, and I remembered how weird it seemed to me when they had never been close like we were. I was faced with two options then: trying to explain what had happened or denying that anything had happened at all.

Given how well the first option had been working for me lately (and how likely Derek was to interpret it in some other way), I chose the second option, which is generally the one that works the best for Derek. It was a calculated gamble, but rarely do I do anything without first weighing the risks and benefits of the action. "It was nothing," I told him succinctly, vigorously. I stared Derek down fearlessly, intent on proving the strength of my statement. Derek eyed me warily, not sure whether to believe me or not. His indecision showed on his face, but eventually that odd look disappeared, and Derek seemed to have come to a conclusion.

Ever-doubtful, Derek still radiated suspicion. Nevertheless, something a lot like understanding flashed in his eyes, and he seemed to have resolved to take me at my word on this one thing. He leaned back into the couch almost as if he needed its support. Derek's eyes were hooded. "Don't..." he began, cutting himself off as the word slipped from his mouth awkward and heavy and coarse. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, raising his hand to punctuate the statement to follow. There was a knowing look in his eyes. "_Don't_ give into it, Ed. Don't get physically involved with her first. Don't let yourself make it into a sex thing," Derek warned me. His voice was forbidding and yet pleading, almost, although Derek didn't beg.

My heart hammered into my chest because the way he was looking at me, it was like he'd been reading my mind. I'd never felt like my brother knew me or understood me, but at that moment, it seemed like he did. It honestly terrified me how easily Derek got to the heart of my problems. I felt like he'd read it on my face, that it was so transparent that everyone could see, and what was stopping Lizzie from doing the same and calling me a sick freak? In fact, I wondered why Derek had taken such a serious approach to the issue (and, for that matter, why he wasn't beating me up if he knew my thoughts so well), but apparently he didn't judge.

His words were so close to my thoughts that it scared me, but hadn't I been telling myself similar things for months? Only... I'd been telling myself it was just a sex thing, that I was fixating on Lizzie in particular because I saw her the most, and it was only logical because proximity increases liking... I opened my mouth to ask Derek why just because I was curious. He actually looked worried, and I saw a sort of desperation flicker in his eyes. He clenched his fists like he wanted to grab me and shake me or something. "Because it'll _never_ be enough... And, ultimately, it'll ruin everything," Derek murmured intently. His voice was low and soft, and he didn't look at me when he said it. There was a heavy, almost painful empathy in his voice.

Apparently he realized he was being just a little too maudlin about my problems, Derek straightened a bit and blinked. Hearing Derek talk like that, so foreboding and dark, depressing, sent a kind of chill up my spine. I knew I was missing something, and I had a small inkling of what it was, but key pieces of information were missing, too, so I couldn't decipher his great problem. "And because you know she deserves better than that... and bro, you deserve better than that too," Derek said calmly. But there was a flinty look in his eyes as he clamped his hand down on my shoulder. It was more threatening than the reassuring gesture he meant it to be, leading me to suspect ulterior motives.

Something Lizzie has forgotten is that Derek is extremely opportunistic and far more manipulative than the average person. She once pointed out that Derek's too nice to be a real sociopath (plus he does have bothersome inclinations such as feelings and a knowledge of right and wrong, no matter how hard he tries to ignore these impulses), however, she did say he has strong Machiavellian tendencies. It was, then, somewhat understandable for me to worry that I was just another pawn in one of Derek's never-ending games. The problem, though, with playing games, is that no one ever knows when you're serious.

Derek continued talking. He didn't sound as in control as he had before. He smirked a bit. "Obviously she's attracted to you, but that..." Here he paused, and his voice hardened, becoming surprisingly frank. "That's nothing, and it's not what you want." I was stunned. When had Derek ever discounted attraction and lust? His eyes glittered with knowledge, unwanted knowledge that had come to him at a high price. "You want everything. No matter how much you think it's a good idea to... get it out of your system... or that you can move up to something more, it won't work. It won't get her to see you how you want her to see you at all. She'll see you as someone she can _use_ when she doesn't have anyone else or when she can't have the person she really wants. And then you're screwed. Don't let her see you that way. You **don't **want to be that guy, Ed," Derek explained brusquely. There was an urgency in his voice.

His eyes were coal-black, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. Then Derek spoke, slower this time, and he said things I would've never thought he'd say in a thousand years. "Attraction alone is _hollow_. Practically meaningless. Lust is empty, and the brief release you'd get would be equally **void**, not even a relief at all. And, trust me, you'd hate yourself for the rest of eternity for doing it... and you'll be even miserable than you are now," Derek spat bitterly, staring off into space. His fingers itched for a drink, I could tell. It was out of character, yes, but Derek was right. As I thought over everything he had said, it all came together perfectly, and I realized the brilliance of his simplicity.

I needed that advice of his a lot more than I was willing to admit. He was so right about everything that I couldn't help but marvel at it. Accuracy is hardly Derek's strong suit. Nevertheless, I tried my best to absorb his advice because he spoke with the authority of one who'd been there. He spoke as if he actually understood me. "Take it from someone who knows... it's not worth it," Derek added cryptically. The mystery only deepens. Then Derek graced me with a now-rare genuine smile, ruffling my hair. "Make her fall in love with you, Ed. I know you've got it in you," he advised me confidently, sounding kind of... proud.

Despite the fact that I didn't want Lizzie to fall in love with me, I was touched by Derek's faith in me. The gesture affected me so much because it was like I was getting a glimpse of the not-often-seen kind side of my brother, the side he concealed from the world. Derek hadn't been like this in a while, much less with me. There was an honesty and vulnerability there too, a tantalizing hint of the secrets Derek hid and I'd always wondered about. It felt almost confessional, revealing, like we really were brothers after all. So I smiled back at him because I couldn't help it, and I hugged Derek before he could protest. He didn't know it, but I was silently thanking him for setting me straight.

He'd confirmed what I'd been thinking about not giving in to my whole... problem. He'd basically reassured me that it would be a bad idea, that I couldn't do it, that it'd be wrong. That advice helped to tide me over, to make me feel normal, like less of a freak for once. "Thanks," I told him genuinely. Derek just rolled his eyes and tried to brush it off, but I wouldn't let him. "I promise you, Derek; I will **not** get involved with Lizzie..." Upon noticing Derek's questioning if not skeptical glance, I amended my statement. "Um, sexually." My voice cracked, and I grimaced. In reality, though, I meant not to get involved with her romantically at _all_.

Derek looked pleased. "You'll save yourself a lot of pain this way, kid," was all he said. We went downstairs and played Sorry! with C (who surprisingly remembered he'd extended the invitation to me in the first place) and Marti. It felt good to be with my family and to feel like I belonged, for once.

Of course, the beautiful moment was broken when Nora informed us all cheerfully that Casey had set a date for her wedding: June 17th. That's Derek's half-birthday, incidentally, and I don't think that particular date is an accident. One more piece was added to the puzzle, explaining why Derek had showed up to dinner slightly inebriated. The gauntness of his face and lack of enthusiasm in his facial expression suggested he had already known about this particular fact. Nora was brimming with other wedding details, such as where it was and so forth. Lizzie, who seemed like she'd already known this, offered Derek a sad smile. Derek made his excuses and left, unable to bear all the wedding details and on his way to get drunk enough to forget about the damn thing entirely.

And, not for the first time, I wondered what exactly had happened to change things so completely between them. He'd given me a few hints that night, but I had nothing concrete, only vague ideas. Besides, I didn't have time to puzzle over Derek's strangeness; I had my hands more than full with the other stepsister. Still, it was a mystery I was dying to unravel.

Lor ;*

Sorry, this is the first chapter in a series of chapters with crappy endings. Anyways, that should've left you with still more questions, hopefully. I'd like to know what you think about it, anyway. Tell me all of your crazy theories, and tell me what you think Edwin will do next...

Anyway, the next chapter is pretty crazy, but, to sum it up in a few sentences: Edwin struggles with keeping his vow to Derek, because every little thing Lizzie is doing is driving him absolutely insane. Edwin and Lizzie are studying two very different types of chemistry. Then Edwin has a surprise encounter at school. And, um, let's see... Drunk!Lizzie, sexy shower time, and Edwin pretending to be Derek?! Oh my! Hopefully that's enough to wet your appetite.

Anyways, review, please! As I said before, I really appreciate it, even if Lizzie/Edwin isn't exactly your thing.


	11. Resistance

Okay, admittedly I had to resist calling this chapter "Friction" or "Heat". Which should tell you something about the chapter. ;) Hopefully you'll enjoy it because I had lots of fun writing it... It's pretty steamy. That being said, honestly, this chapter kind of makes me really nervous. Okay, so I'm just flat out nervous about it. But, anyways, this chapter is actually very important because you (and Edwin) get to find out a bit about why Lizzie doesn't have lasting relationships and how she feels about men and so forth... as if the fact that things are starting to heat up with them wasn't enough. ;) And, you also get a couple more pieces of the Casey backstory, a hint of insight into Derek, and a bit of the real reason why Edwin doesn't like being compared to Derek, all of which will probably leave you with more questions than answers. And, of course, I've thrown in a couple of little surprises for you, including a glimpse of the mysterious Sylvia our young Edwin is so attracted to.

Anyway, after much consideration (well, actually, a significant while ago), I decided to up the rating of this fic. On the one level, it's mostly to be safe, since readership tends to go down when you up a rating, and you tend to attract a different type of people... and I wouldn't up it unless I wasn't worried about it and felt that it was necessary. Because, I dunno, there's something about all of a sudden realizing you have a fic that's going to be rated M that's sort of shameful. In many respects, I'm kind of a Puritan, so doing this is a big thing for me. But, yeah, let's just say it's for this chapter and for the future. And... I mean, there will be sexual content, but it won't be that graphic/explicit, per se, because, quite frankly, I'm kind of uncomfortable with that, and it's so easy to write a bad/unrealistic/disgusting sex scene.

And I know just how much that bugs me, and I'm not going to do something if I don't feel like I can do it justice or be satisfied with my work. And explicit smut is just something I feel like I'd completely botch (plus I find the vocabulary rather lacking... I mean, really, mounds and pebbles and buttons and all the stupid, unappealing words people use for penis and vagina? I'd rather not bother with that language. There's no romance in words like that, really). Plus, I mean, doesn't everyone know the basic mechanics of it anyway? And I kind of want to focus on the things you don't get much in fic/movie/etcetera sex scenes. Like reality and emotion and feelings and stuff.

Oh, and, randomly, (you see, I deliberately put this in the middle of my author's notes, knowing full well that most people don't read them, and even if one did read them, that person would be so bored by me taking the sex out of sex up there and would skip down to the action) I've started on a little side project. I think I'll finish it someday and post it, hopefully, because that's what I want. And I'm sure I'll find some time to do that. Hopefully. But if I don't, then, not such a big deal. Anyway, I got this idea because I read a fic where Edwin told Lizzie how he felt, and she basically wanted nothing to do with him, and I kinda wanted to write something like that, but then I was like, no, I can't do that, the plot's too flimsy, and I remembered this fic I wrote a while ago... So I wound up with basically the opposite of that. But it'll be kind of a companion piece to At Last from Lizzie's point of view and a bit of a Lizzie character piece, and a bit more fleshed out on those details. And I think it'll be called Moonstruck, but I'm not sure... And I've kind of sketched out a bit of how I want the plot to go and finished one section and written some odds and ends of the others... And in a way, I suppose, it's kind of the opposite of this fic, in a way, since it's Lizzie with her feelings on her sleeve in that one, but I dunno... So I'm excited about that.

And I realize this chapter gives you a lot of the how but none of the why, and hopefully some of that will be cleared up soon. And, yes, I am trying to make science (and, in particular, Chemistry) sexy, so I hope it's working. All of Edwin's science explanations/references are courtesy of yours truly, hopefully in terms that you can understand. And to some extent Wikipedia, since I use that to brush up a bit. But I also do want you to feel like this fic isn't just some bit of escapist literature and that you do actually learn something by reading it the way I do writing it. Anyways, and if there's ever any particular reference you don't understand, feel free to ask me about it if you're confused and want to know.

Oh, and, yeah, I don't own Life with Derek or any of the characters depicted within, pretty much, except Sebastian, and I've basically invented the looks and personality of most of the secondary characters that populate Lizzie and Edwin's world and aren't related to them, namely their friends and certain teachers. Like Dan and Sylvia, for instance, and the ones you'll see later.

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**Resistance:** 1. An object's opposition to the flow of a steady electrical current. 2. An organism's capability to fight off disease, or in the case of pathogens, lack of responsiveness to drugs. 3. A measure of the ability of a mineral to withstand erosive conditions. 4. The unwillingness to bring repressed feelings into conscious awareness that results in a patient's refusal to discuss or remember relevant experiences. _Note:** Hardness** is defined by the **resistance** of a material, such as a mineral or metal, to irreversible deformation._

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Lizzie hasn't really been the same since Derek came to dinner last week. She's been really distracted and kind of... irritated for seemingly no reason. I think she wants to see Derek more, and the last time he came over was a complete failure. Of course, we both know that's not the real problem. The real problem is that it's becoming increasingly apparent that Derek has some pretty weighty issues of his own to sort out. Liz doesn't see Derek the way I do because she idolizes him like one of those teen heartthrob guys they plaster all over posters. I know Derek a lot better than she does because I'm a guy too, and he's my brother... and I just _get _it, you know?

The more I talk to Derek, the more obvious it is that something is very, very wrong in his life. He's not the same brother I've always loved and feared. Every time I see him, he's exhausted and unhappy. It doesn't matter how well he tries to mask it; it's almost like he's wasting away before my eyes. I don't know what exactly it is, and I don't know how to fix it... but I can't help but have this sneaking suspicion that Casey's involved in it somehow, that she's the reason my brother's becoming such a wreck.

I think everyone kind of knows, too, but they don't want to say it or admit that there just might be something there. Lizzie knows, at least subconsciously, because she tries to avoid mentioning Casey around him and kind of freaks out when I do. I'm not like her, though. I'm not going to walk on eggshells around Derek, watching what I say and never uttering her name. I refuse to treat my brother with kid gloves. I'm not going to indulge his self-pity and avoid the subject. He's an adult, for God's sake... and until he gives me a reason, I'm **not** just going to pretend that she doesn't exist, that we don't have this great sister out in Toronto who left home and never seems to come back or look back, and that we don't all feel just a little bit abandoned. He's not the only one who's affected by this... _thing_... between them.

Derek can deny it all he wants, but I won't. I'm not like him. I'm not.

Another thing I think Lizzie's realized is how stubborn Derek really is, how he clings to things. Still, I don't think she has any real idea of just how resistant Derek is to change. He's so reluctant to admit to his own feelings, much less analyze them, that his feelings can't really change. They just form layer after layer under the surface, like sediments, and someday they'll either solidify into sedimentary rock or else explode like Mount Pinatubo. He's pretty set in his ways; his opinions sure as hell don't change overnight. Honestly, I don't even think Lizzie at her most persuasive could ever, ever convince him to see her as anything more. She's his little sister, and that's all she'll ever be. Family is an inviolable concept to Derek.

Unfortunately, as you can see, Lizzie's silence has adverse effects on my mental well-being. I think entirely too much when she's quiet and confused like this, and it's terribly dangerous because my thoughts keep wandering, probing deeper, following currents they're not supposed to travel.

I studied her in silence. We were supposed to be studying Chemistry, but Lizzie hadn't spoken in hours. She hadn't even really moved in hours. For all intents and purposes, she seemed immersed in her textbook, but I knew better. Her brow was furrowed in contemplation, true, but I suspected that she'd clam up immediately if I asked her even a single question. She was too still, too intent on "reading" the book, to be truly convincing. She hated Chemistry and found it hard to focus on for any more than thirty minutes at a time. Normally, she would've asked me a million questions by now or at least tried to distract me by changing the subject and then asking for a break.

It then fell to me to do what she could not. I'd put up with enough of this silence; it was time for some answers. "What's wrong, Liz?" I asked. I didn't touch her, as I normally would have. She didn't glance up or really pay attention to me, so I repeated myself. "Lizzie, I know something's wrong... and I hate seeing you like this," I insisted, itching to reach over and put my hand on her shoulder or her back for comfort. I would have, but I don't particularly trust myself, and I'm trying to stick to my promise to Derek. I am a man of my word, and I promised him and myself I wouldn't go there with Lizzie. Lizzie was practically moping (and over my unworthy elder brother, no less!), and it set me on edge, seeing her like that and not being able to help her. It goes against my natural instincts.

Something in Lizzie broke down then, and she let out a soft, heavy sigh. She pushed aside her textbook and leaned back against her headboard, staring at the ceiling. "I don't really know, Edwin... I just... I feel like something's really wrong, you know? And I don't know what it is, and I can't do anything about it," Lizzie admitted, wrapping her arms around her waist. In a way, I knew what she meant. I'd been feeling that way, only to a lesser extent. The more days passed, the more I became aware of just how fractured my home life really was. There was something dark and wrong and broken running right through our perfect family Christmas card photo, an undercurrent of something not quite right, some invisible, deep fracture. So I nodded because that was really all I could do, just sit there and listen.

It was more than that with Lizzie, though. I knew it was Derek-related, though, because everything in this family ultimately comes back to Derek... and sometimes Casey... but usually Derek. Then again, I am his brother, so I might be slightly biased. I adjusted the pillow behind me, fluffing it as best as I could, shifting on Lizzie's bed. I'd been sitting there for a while, and I was rather uncomfortable from being in the same position for so long. It was at least an hour past midnight, and we'd been studying in Lizzie's room since about nine.

Since it didn't seem like she was going to talk about how she was feeling, if she even knew why she felt so depressed, I decided to change the subject. The subject I ended up choosing was an awkward one, but I'd been curious about it for a while. "Lizzie, I've just..." I stalled for a moment, trying to think of a way to say it in a way that wasn't completely awkward. "A girl like you... I mean, you've dated a lot of guys and had a lot of opportunities... Why are you still a virgin?" I wound up just blurting it out like that, more than a little tactlessly.

The truly singular thing is that Lizzie didn't react at all as I'd expected her to. If the question had surprised her, she didn't show it. She didn't seem remotely offended or awkward. Liz just shrugged and let out a little laugh, as if it was just another question. "Well, Ed, why _aren't_ you a virgin?" she retorted, arching an eyebrow. Touché, Lizzie. I managed a faint smile at her show of spirit. I leaned back against the pillow, throwing my arms behind my head. That was a good question, after all.

I matched her shrug with one of my own, smirking a little, and said the first thing that came to mind. "'Cause I'm a _guy_," I said pointedly. Lizzie rolled her eyes, and I shrugged again. I realized then that losing my virginity was generally a subject I avoided thinking of, let alone speaking about. I'd never really felt right about it, and I really didn't remember much at all. "There's a bigger social pressure for us, you know?" I sighed. "And, basically, I was really, really drunk at this party, and it just sort of... happened," I told her a bit shamefully.

Unbelievably, Lizzie rolled her eyes at me. "Way to sound like a drunk chick, Ed. Are you lamenting the loss of your virginity? 'Cause I always thought it was like earning a merit badge or something," Liz rejoined rather sarcastically. She turned so that she was leaning towards me. I opened my mouth to say something, somewhat offended by her attitude, but Lizzie was contemplative. "But I guess I didn't really answer your question," she mused. "You're right... It's not like I haven't had opportunities. And I have dated a lot of guys... So I know what they say about me." A pained look crossed her face, like she thought what Michelle said about her was right.

A helpless look flitted across her face. "I just dumped them whenever they started pressuring me for it..." she said, swallowing hard. There was a certain pain in the expression. She brought her shoulders up to her head, wrapping her arms around her knees. "It felt weird, you know... and I mean, I knew I was supposed to like doing that sort of stuff... but I didn't, and... It's really surreal, you know, because a part of me still thinks it's all completely disgusting, the whole idea of it," she explained softly as her fingers found her hair. I wondered if Casey had contributed to any of these ideas. She seemed to relax a little, loosening her grip on her knees, which fell open. The gesture was hardly vulgar, but it got me thinking, leaning just a bit forward to see what I could. I tried not to look at her, but, as usual, I was unsuccessful.

She stretched out languidly, like a cat, causing her shirt to ride up and reveal more of her taut stomach. I wanted to brush my fingers across it to see if the skin was really as firm and muscular as it looked, but thank God I've got more self-control than that! Lizzie was wearing a flimsy pale green camisole and heather gray cut-off shorts. Her shorts weren't as short as they could've been, but they were short enough to drive me crazy. That didn't take much nowadays. Her legs were still lightly-tanned and seemed to go on for miles. She crossed one smooth, lean leg over the other, propping her head up with her hand. I was drawn to the sensual gesture, to the way her shorts wrinkled and folded as she moved. Her hair was thrown up in an artless ponytail. "I guess I never met anyone I was really that attracted to..." she continued. One of the straps of her camisole tumbled down her arm. Then she trailed off and smiled, wrapping her arms around her waist warmly, and I knew immediately what was going to come next. "Until Derek."

I barely fought down the grimace, and I felt just a little like throwing up. And was that a bit of offense creeping up on me? Lizzie flushed, seeing the look of distaste on my face. "I'm sorry," she said timidly, squeezing my arm. Realizing the strap was slipping further down her arm, risking the exposure of one of her breasts, Lizzie giggled nervously and hastily pulled the strap up, putting it in its rightful place again. I hated myself bitterly for wanting the strap to fall just a little further, for even thinking of bargaining with some higher deity of probability to get it to fall the rest of the way. "I know how you feel when I talk about Derek," she conceded, looking somewhat embarrassed. She leaned into me a little bit, flipping her hair out of her face, annoyed. Her chest shook slightly with the motion, causing her neckline to fall infinitesimally.

Liz shifted into me, bit by bit, leaning against my chest. She crossed an arm over her chest, squeezing her bicep, smiling at me. She closed her eyes contentedly, looking a million times more comfortable than I've been in her presence for the last month. "And, anyways, it just makes things weird. It makes you vulnerable, you know?" Lizzie murmured, sliding her hand off her arm and onto my chest. I started a little at the unexpected touch; her caress was subtle but somehow snakelike in the way it just crept up on me. I could see how it would be like that for a girl because, once you've done that, you don't really have any cards left to play. Sex is a woman's trump card. You become naked and vulnerable after... And, suddenly, we were talking about sex again. The feeling of Lizzie's hand on my chest still made me jump a little every time she even flexed a finger. I nodded distractedly. All of which are good reasons not to get physically involved with Lizzie. She flicked her fingers back and forth against my chest.

Once again, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. However, Liz opened her eyes, fidgeting, moving back a little, and staring up at the ceiling. "Besides, I think sex makes guys jerks," she announced. I leaned over and gave her a quizzical look. She gave me a rather stern look, pursing her lips. I stared at her mouth for a moment, watching her lips keenly as she spoke. "Either they want it so much they won't shut up about it... and I bet it's not even that great!" she exclaimed a bit melodramatically, thumping the bed for emphasis. I smirked a little; after all, not that she would know. The hem of her camisole fluttered and trembled against her skin from the motion; one of the straps started to slowly slide down her porcelain shoulder. I wanted to mar the perfect skin and taste her neck. I also want to punch myself in the face. Frequently.

She sighed, leaning back a bit more, causing her chest to jut out still more. "Or they have sex with you and then completely blow you off. And it's completely despicable, you know, all of it... The way they talk to their friends about women with no discretion at all... the way they treat us like we're objects... like we're... _disposable_," Liz spat disdainfully, obviously speaking from her friends' experience. Casey would've been proud that Lizzie took up her feminist mantle when men had broken Casey down. I wondered if she realized that Derek kind of typified what she was describing. Lizzie shook her head irritably, causing the other strap to fall a bit. "And, if they don't just split once they get what they wanted, they expect it like, all the time. They think they're entitled to have sex again because you took pity on them _one _time... And sex isn't enough nowadays because they all want more complicated things, and they all expect us to be pornstars... and it's just... Not worth all the trouble! I mean, really, they're just lucky we're even talking to them at all!" Lizzie ranted, gesticulating rapidly. The strap tumbled further, bringing her breasts dangerously close to revelation (and my excitement equally dangerously close to its plateau).

I snickered at the intensity of her reaction and then swallowed hard, watching with rapt attention as the strap continued to slip down and over her silky skin tortuously. Lizzie was oblivious, as always. Maybe that's why she likes Derek. They're so terribly alike in that respect; never noticing what's going on right in front of their very eyes. "Plus, most high school boys don't even know _how_ to touch a girl." I nodded, agreeing with her. Most high school boys are so happy to be touching a girl that they don't care how they're doing it because the girl's letting them. Man, high school girls really must put up with a lot! No wonder Lizzie prefers older men, not that you'd know it...

"Sounds a little like you're speaking from experience, Liz," I insinuated, giving her a look. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me, shoving me playfully and pushing up the straps of her camisole, which had fallen to the middle of her upper arms. I barely hid my expression of disappointment from her. Was she speaking from experience? Lizzie did have kind of a thing about (not) being touched, but I didn't know a lot about what went on with her past relationships.

"Oh, don't be such a prude, Edwin!" she interjected, smacking me in the shoulder. She's the virgin, and I'm suddenly a Puritan here? I raised my eyebrows at her, stunned. Had she? Lizzie, however, snorted at the expression on my face. "Oh, _please_! Like I actually let any of the bumbling fools I've dated touch me like that?" she quipped, sounding a bit affronted I'd even considered the possibility. It sounded like something I would say, so I managed a faint chuckle. Nevertheless, she'd let me touch her like that, hadn't she, and we hadn't even had the pretense of a romantic relationship! A wave of relief crashed over me, and I smiled weakly. Some days I swear that girl is really trying to give me a myocardial infarction. Lizzie traced circles on her upper thigh, just below the edge of her shorts. Ever the tease, apparently (because that's what they really call her behind her back, and they're damn right. The worst thing about it is that she doesn't even know just how much she's screwing you over).

My fingers were itching to join hers. She was so close that it would've been easy to reach my hand over and just brush my fingers against her creamy skin, to test if it really was as soft and smooth as it looked. My traitorous fingers tingled in anticipation, in spite of the fact that I well knew that I couldn't touch her there. Her thighs, however, fell in the category of forbidden territory, and touching them would be crossing a line, bringing myself just another step closer to hell. From there it was only a tiny skip to slipping my fingers one by one under and up the hem of her shorts, trespassing, inching closer and closer to the inner sanctum, the holy of holies, the area between her legs I was absolutely forbidden from even thinking about, let alone touching. Again, I reminded myself uncomfortably, touching _again_. Then there was that familiar hard, uncomfortable, awkward sensation that made me sick to my stomach, creeping up on me again. I swallowed hard, hoping she didn't notice the way I shifted and pulled at my clothes uneasily.

As usual, Lizzie didn't notice, which left me free to stare. Liz tossed her hair, drawing a line on her thigh with her index finger. "So why bother putting myself through all of that? I deserve more than that, you know," she replied matter-of-factly, turning to look at me. There was a spunky pride in her voice, but she seemed oddly jaded for a girl with no almost experience. Lizzie exhaled heavily, blowing some of the hair out of her face, but my eyes were focused instead on the heaving of her chest. She shifted towards me, moving her hand up to my arm. The change of position pressed her breasts together attractively; my eyes traced the thin, dark shadow between them helplessly. From where I was sitting, I could almost see right down her shirt. It was hard to look away, too, given that her breasts were practically put on display for me to look at, but I managed it nonetheless.

She gave me a look, somehow not noticing the rather lengthy detour my eyes had taken. "Besides, witnessing first-hand the wreck that Casey was as a result of Truman... is enough to give _anyone_ pause when it comes to relationships," Lizzie quipped, turning suddenly sober. I froze, thinking. Is that why Lizzie avoids serious relationships, because she's afraid of winding up broken(hearted) like Casey? It had to be, at least, one of the reasons, the other one being, of course, the failure that was her parents' marriage.

Casey and Truman lasted a lot longer than one might've expected, given that he went to school in Halifax, which is hardly close. Surprisingly, they didn't break up the summer after graduation. We all knew that she lost her virginity to him that summer, and I can only assume it went like everything Casey-related always does. She micromanages and plans to death every little detail, and then she gets overwhelmed and goes a little crazy, and then it happens, but not like one would expect, not like she'd planned, rather... imperfectly, I suppose you could say, and it's always at least half-botched but maybe... good. And, when Derek's involved, what would've otherwise been a small disaster becomes a full blown epic failure.

Casey was a bit preoccupied by the time he left with baby Sebastian and helping take care of the family, so it didn't seem like she missed him much. It was like she'd turned off the romantic part of her brain, period, and was only with Truman out of habit. It surprised everyone when she deferred admissions to Queens to stay home and help the family out, but Nora and Dad really needed it. In retrospect, I would say that Sebastian's arrival changed Casey. She's always been a little more apt to focus on others when it counts, but Sebastian's birth made her become an adult.

There was definitely a little distance between Casey and Truman at that point, and not just the physical/geographical variety. Casey was busy, yes, but also very distracted. Truman came back to visit for Christmas, but he left early for some reason or another, probably because Casey had a million things to do for the family and her return to school. They didn't see quite enough of each other, I think. Either way, by the end of break, Casey seemed obsessed with the idea of seeing him again. I think she was more in love with the idea of being with Truman than actually being with Truman, and she kind of worked herself up into a fever about him.

Nevertheless, she surprised all of us when she announced that instead of going to Queens, as was planned, she had applied to and been accepted by the University of Toronto. It was odd, too, because at the time Truman wasn't even going to U of T, so it wasn't to see him either. She gave some vague excuse of needing some distance, that she'd been at home, postponing her life for all of us, and she just needed to get away from everything for a change. She wanted to be in a big city, and she'd always loved Toronto. She'd always thought of it as her home. Aunt Fiona, Uncle Harry, Cousin Vicky, and her former friends all lived there, so she wouldn't be alone. Besides, U of T was a really good school too, and Toronto provided for more job opportunities. And so on. We never thought she wouldn't really come back.

It's hard to tell this story because after she left, we didn't hear from Casey much. Everything I heard was relayed through Nora or Lizzie. She recommitted herself to this relationship with Truman, and he moved back to join her at U of T. They had a pretty rocky relationship nonetheless, breaking up and making up almost every other week, it seemed. According to Lizzie, Casey was beginning to be characterized at this point by a desperation to be with him that was hard to stomach. She and Truman moved in together that summer; in part, I think, so Casey wouldn't have to come back home. Things between them progressively got more serious, and Truman even proposed to her on their second anniversary. Casey said yes, of course, because she was madly in love with him. We thought Truman was growing up, so we were a bit more accepting of it than we had been in the past.

Then they broke up one more time, and this time the break lasted just a little bit longer than it did usually. And then Casey walked in on him with another girl, and she was a complete mess. Casey came straight home and... it was a full-blown thermonuclear meltdown. She was a sobbing mess; her cries echoed all throughout the house, and no one knew what to do to calm her down. Many people, including Derek, came to give her advice, but Casey didn't know what to do. She was at a complete loss, and she didn't listen. She loved him so much; she thought he was her world, and she expected to marry him. So, not so unbelievably, Casey took him back, and Truman promised to be better. She lost a lot of her dignity begging and pleading with him because, you know, he'd started seeing that other girl. After that, though, Casey never could trust him again.

Truman self-sabotaged too. He sure didn't make a good case for himself, hanging out and flirting with other women. If he wasn't cheating on Casey, he definitely gave her reason to suspect he was. One day she just couldn't take it anymore and finally broke it off with him for good in the classic Casey Breakdown style. She loved him more than anything, but she couldn't handle their relationship anymore because it was destroying her and driving her completely insane. She said they were over because she didn't think Truman was ever going to grow up, be serious, and commit like she needed him to. Rumor has it Derek had something to do with their little break-up, that he was the one who finally convinced her to end things.

He tried to get back together with her a couple times a year, like clockwork, but Casey refused to give in and has continued to refuse him. Marrying Noel has made her even more certain, I'm sure. Truman is a persistent sonuvabitch; you've got to give him that, at least. Derek's not quite as persistent because he's still used to getting things so easily. When he doesn't immediately get what he want, he chases it until he either gets it or gives up because he can't bear it anymore. He's definitely improved since Casey came, but I can't help but think that Derek's life might be different if he tried just a little bit harder. In some situations, his impatience really hasn't served him very well.

We'd settled into a comfortable silence, both contemplating that storied former relationship. I looked over and saw Lizzie absentmindedly massaging her thigh and her knee, hands kneading further down her leg, getting out the kinks. My mouth was suddenly dry. A moment or so later, Lizzie looked up unexpectedly and caught me staring. She smiled faintly, almost secretively, almost like she knew what she was doing to me, and put her foot in my lap. I raised an eyebrow, and Lizzie pouted. "Come on, Edwin. You give the best foot massages... Please?" I sighed and picked up her foot, unable to say no, even if I wanted to.

I knew I shouldn't. I'm not completely stupid, and I realize that this is basically the equivalent of dangling a nice, juicy steak in front of a hungry dog. I was already salivating, but now I'm going to try and take a bite. Indeed, I came a little undone the minute my hand touched her arch, and every circle I pressed into the sensitive skin made me unwind just a bit more. Her feet are ticklish, despite all the abuse she puts them through, so Liz twitched from time to time. Soon enough, however, she was practically purring, which made me antsy. Suddenly, it was impossible to be comfortable. I struggled to distract myself by breaking the silence.

The last thing I needed to do was concentrate on the little noises of satisfaction she was making, or the feel of her skin underneath my fingertips, or the long, bare expanse of skin before my eyes. "So... You and Casey talked about the wedding yet?" I asked thickly, rather stupidly. As of late, Casey was a bit of a sore subject with Lizzie (no doubt a result of Derek's own mixed feelings towards the minx). Fortunately, Lizzie didn't tense up. She just shrugged, seemingly not upset, for once, when the subject of Casey's upcoming nuptials had been mentioned.

She moved forward, adjusting her position against her headboard, and, as a result, the position of her foot in my lap. I gulped, praying that she wouldn't notice. "Well, Ed, let's see... So far, I'm the Maid of Honor, duh... and the wedding's June 17th, which you obviously already knew... I'm not sure if they're having the wedding in London or Toronto or New York yet... and she's changed her mind on the colors at least five times this week. And, frankly, by this point, who knows if she'll change her mind on the groom?! Being Casey, she's not going to hire a wedding planner either... so she'll be a psycho Bridezilla, and _I'll_ be the one she calls at three in the morning with her neuroses, you know!" Lizzie enumerated hastily, completely forgetting that I was massaging her.

She'd gotten herself all worked up into a tizzy; her body was stiff. Apparently Casey's stress in contagious; either that or Lizzie's more like her sister than I thought. It was the first time it had occurred to me in a long while that my strong, tough sister had some of the same problems I did. She put up with her share of crap just the same as I did. The pressure she was feeling of taking on someone else's problems, of having to be a pillar of support, was something I understood. Her problems with Casey went a lot deeper than I had previously realized. I put a hand on her shoulder, attempting to calm her down. Lizzie let out a shaky breath.

Liz smiled weakly as I rubbed her shoulder as soothingly as possible. Her expression belied her gratefulness. She sighed, arching her back and closing her eyes. "Guess I'm more stressed out than I thought," she muttered apologetically. If I didn't think I would explode if I touched her, and the memories of the last wretched back massage weren't branded into my brain, I would've suggested a back massage. Liz turned, pushing her books to the side, and leaned against me. She slid up against me so that she was practically sitting in my lap. For a while, I didn't really know what to do. I was reluctant to touch her, but that seemed to be the thing to do. Nevertheless, I found myself putting my hands on her hips and then around her waist, repositioning my legs around hers so she could lean against me more fully. She rested her head on my shoulder, throwing an arm around my neck.

It was hard to resist moving, to stop myself from pushing my hips forward. I had to bite back a groan when Liz snuggled up against me. She dragged her other hand down my arm to settle where my hands locked around her waist. Lizzie squeezed my hand, turning back to smile at me. "You're the best, Ed," she told me adoringly. I grinned but found it was somewhat forced. Before I knew what I was doing, I was kissing her on the forehead. Lizzie giggled and surprised me by picking the book back up and dropping it in her lap. "Now," she said mischievously, "Will you help me with this? 'Cause you know there's no way I'm going to understand this stuff by next Thursday."

The page she was pointing to was on chemical reactions. It wasn't a particularly difficult subject by any stretch of the imagination, and I thought Lizzie could probably get it on her own if she tried, and wasn't that the goal anyway? Nevertheless, I peered at the page over her shoulder. "What do you need help with, exactly?" I asked, scanning the page for any difficult concepts. We hadn't even gone over acid-base reactions yet. The chapter contained information on what a chemical reaction is (and their importance in daily life), different types of chemical reactions, most notably oxidation and reduction reactions, electron motion, a review of chemical equations, and a bit on catalysts and activation energy.

That being said, it wasn't exactly easy for me to keep my mind on science when I had an armful of Lizzie and another, more physical type of chemistry on the brain (and it did seem an awful lot like she was flirting with me). As if I wasn't already about to combust from the nearness of her and the effort it took to restrain myself, it was stifling in the room. The door had been closed for _hours_, allowing the heat to build up inside like a greenhouse, and Dad had turned the heat on for the first time this afternoon. As usual, he'd gone a bit overboard and set it above optimal temperature, so it was probably around twenty-seven degrees in there. Since I was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, I was sweating like an astronaut on his first space flight. I felt like I was stuck on Venus, melting under an immense pressure, unable to breathe, suffocating on air too thick for my lungs, slowly being poisoned to death; if one thing didn't kill me, everything else would.

Think of it as my own personal version of Hell. The only thing I had going for me was the fact that at least Lizzie wasn't sitting in my lap or wiggling around a lot, which was hardly a relief. I took a hand off her waist to wipe away the sweat on my forehead with the back of my arm. Lizzie leaned forward and pointed at a section in the book that blurred before my eyes. "Well, for one, I don't understand the difference between oxidation and reduction reactions. And I don't really get double replacement reactions... Oh, and can you explain what catalysts do? I'm kinda confused about how they work still," Liz requested, shooting me a look over her shoulder. I had to move my head back so that we didn't bump heads.

She was staring at me expectantly, and I licked my lips. "I can see why you would have trouble with that," I told her in a strained voice, saying anything to get her to stop looking at me like that. I wasn't lying, though; hell, right now I myself was having a lot of trouble with oxidation reactions (i.e. combustion). Lizzie shifted, turning back to her work, and I swallowed hard once I was sure she couldn't see or feel it. I pointed blindly at the textbook and chose my words carefully. "Okay, Liz, this is an easy one," I tried to tell her, discreetly wiping my sweaty hands on my pants. "There's a mnemonic device for this. LEO GER. Or OIL RIG... Anyway, what you need to remember is that, if it loses electrons, it's an oxidation reaction. If it gains electrons, it's a reduction reaction, okay?" I explained patiently.

Unfortunately, at that very moment, Lizzie shifted in her seat, moving back, pressing further against me. I could barely take it and bit down hard on my bottom lip. The pain didn't serve to numb that desire. She made a small noise of assent, murmuring my words under her breath. I exhaled shallowly and pressed on shakily, forcing myself to stare at the page, trying to immerse myself in a protective cocoon of chemistry. "And double replacement reactions are... basically like two single replacement reactions. They're both substitution reactions. The only difference is that, with a double replacement reaction, you switch the end parts of the two compounds. You wind up with two different compounds than the ones you started out with, okay?" Admittedly, I knew that my explanation kind of sucked, but it was all I could do to keep my voice steady with her ass pressed against my thighs, her lower back and spine on my chest and abdomen, and her intoxicating neck mere inches from my face.

By this point, I kind of wanted Lizzie to elbow me in the face or kick me in the groin or pinch me so that I could associate negative stimuli with thinking of her like this. That and I needed something to help me regain my senses because clearly I'm not torturing myself enough about this. I struggled to keep my voice steady as her ponytail brushed against my face. "Um, and a lot of times this forms a precipitate because one of the chemicals is insoluble in aqueous solution. This is usually the case with salts. But we're going to learn about that on Tuesday when we have our lab, so you don't really need to know that until then," I babbled helplessly, clinging to the facts lest I do something stupid.

Lizzie nodded brightly, offering me a smile in return. I tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. It didn't matter, though, because she wasn't looking at me then. She leaned over the book and pointed to an equation, talking it through. I was too busy staring at the way her lips moved to pay attention to the pointless words. "Like this?" she asked, glancing back at me for confirmation. It was all I could do to nod, given that when she bent over like that, I had a perfect view down her shirt, and it was a glorious view. I couldn't tear my eyes away, even though she turned back to the textbook. "So, what's the deal with catalysts?" she questioned several long, tense moments later, jolting me back into reality.

If she hadn't spoken, my hands would've likely wandered to inappropriate regions... and damnit, why couldn't I seem to remember that she was my **sister**, my _goddamn_ sister, for the love of all that is natural and holy and right?! And that no matter what, _incest_ is none of that, not right, not natural, and not holy. The terms "sister" and "Lizzie" were interchangeable in my mind. She was my stepsister, closer to me than any of my blood relatives, and my best friend, and I knew it wasn't right to think about her this way, but I couldn't stop. No matter what I told myself or how many times I reminded myself how completely messed up this whole situation was or how completely imperative it was that I not screw this all up like Derek did. Because Lizzie is my family, and I love her, and I'm not going to ruin our relationship, or our family by acting on these stupid, irrational impulses that go against nature's law.

Even animals don't want to have sex with their siblings. That's how _sick_ I am.

So I swallowed hard and tried my best to answer her. "A catalyst is... a chemical that increases or decreases the rate of a chemical reaction. But catalysts are generally accelerants, like lighter fluid. They don't change the reaction, and they're not... consumed by the reaction, but they speed it up by, um, lowering activation energy. So, basically, they make it easier for the reaction to happen." I swallowed hard, licking my lips anxiously. The more I thought about it, the more examples I came up in relation to myself. Such as Lizzie or me not wearing much clothes. Then again, that means I'm conceding that this... whatever... desire is meant to go through, and that it would eventually happen anyway... and I can't do that because I am fighting this with all I have in me. Because I'm not Lizzie, and I'm not Derek, and I'm not going to make their mistakes.

Liz nodded, a contemplative look crossing her face. "So it kind of works like a lubricant during sex? You know, it just makes it happen a little faster, makes things go a lot smoother?" Liz asked with a smirk. I couldn't believe I'd thought my throat was dry earlier; now _it_ could use some lubricant because I was completely incapable of speech after a little comment like that. Thankfully Lizzie didn't hear me choke on my own saliva. When Lizzie, my innocent virgin sister, said that, looking so sexy and confident, I just about had an embolism. My eyes rolled back in my head a little. As if that wasn't more than enough for me to bear, she squeezed my thigh accidentally. Even though I couldn't feel her hand on my bare skin, I still felt the heat of her maddening hand through the thick, clingy fabric of my sweats. And I knew, without a doubt, that I had to get the hell out of the room before I embarrassed myself by losing control and/or attempting to seduce her.

I was just moving to do that when Lizzie pulled me back down, a faintly annoyed look on her face. "Jeez, Edwin! With the way you act, one would think you're the virgin here and not me!" she cried. I glanced up at the ceiling helplessly, imploringly. I've never been a religious person, but all this was enough to make me pray for some higher assistance. What the hell was I supposed to do here? There's only so much a guy can do (or, in this case, _not_ do) before he snaps, and I can feel my breaking point coming on fast. Lizzie's other hand crawled up my arm, finally stopping on my bicep. Her fingers felt up the muscle there, squeezing and testing. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head to the side. "Have you been working out, Edwin? Your arms feel bigger," she asked curiously.

I forced myself to swallow. I'm not a total weakling, despite what everyone seems to think. My lips quirked up awkwardly, a bit painfully as I tried to shy away from her. "A bit, actually." I paused briefly, meeting her gaze stubbornly, undoubtedly foolishly. "I'm stronger than I look," I said huskily.

The minute I said it, I wondered what the hell I was trying to prove because I sure as hell didn't know. If I had been able to see myself, I would've made sure to completely wipe the lusty look off of my face. Lizzie shifted in my arms, turning so that she could face me more fully. She didn't take her eyes off mine for a second but instead moved closer, zeroing in on me. I felt like she could see clear through me like water. There was an intrigued look on her face, a softness, a strange intensity I couldn't place. "Your eyes are so dark, Edwin. Like onyx," she murmured distractedly. Her hand inched up my arm to rest on my shoulder, and her fingers dug into my skin like needles.

She didn't understand like I did what that darkness meant: pure lust, or, if I was feeling metaphorical, a reflection of the utter blackness of my soul. She was wrong about the color of my eyes, too. They weren't black like onyx. They were black like obsidian, maybe, volatile and explosive, black and hard and crispy like coal and burned things, poisonous and insidious like exhaust, black like beetles, slimy like slippery-slick oil. I shook my head too hard, practically giving myself whiplash, and resorted to my old (or, I ought to say, the family) standby: denial. "They've always been that color," I disagreed quietly, unable to be more forceful.

Liz gave me a somewhat doubtful look but seemed to accept my words as truth. After all, I would know what color my eyes usually were, not Lizzie, and my eyes were dark enough for it to be believable. I looked down, conceding defeat in our unofficial staring contest. Looking at her simply wasn't good for me. "Your nostrils are flared, Edwin. What's that mean?" she wondered a moment later, inspecting my face like a jeweler or art dealer might inspect a prized piece. My face flushed hot with a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

Flared nostrils are like the Holy Grail of body language when it comes to arousal. Judging by the look on Lizzie's face and the stiff feeling in my nose, my nostrils were flared pretty wide. That was just the last thing I needed, yet another physical sign of my extreme level of arousal. Fortunately for me, Lizzie didn't know this particular little detail, and an almost cold wave of relief swept over me. I touched my nose. "Oh, they are?" I laughed nervously, and Lizzie gave me a weird look. I shrugged, wiping my nose like a coke addict would. "I didn't notice, I guess," I muttered weakly. This time, the look she gave me was downright suspicious.

She placed a finger on her lip, raising an eyebrow and staring at me pensively. My heart jumped when I realized she was looking at my lips. _God_, she's looking at my lips! "Your lips are really flushed and chapped, Edwin," she remarked, crossing an arm over her chest, pushing her breasts out. And you really wonder why, Lizzie? Maybe if you didn't keep doing stuff like that, I wouldn't have to bite and lick my lips so many times. I guess I didn't realize I was biting my lip anxiously, but Lizzie sure did because she leaned forward the rest of that little distance, throwing one leg over mine like it was nothing, jutting her hip forward. She reached a hand towards me to touch my lips. Her thumb caressed my bottom lip, and I considered it a small triumph that my whole body didn't convulse. We were both surprised when her finger came back with blood on it. "Are you sure you're okay, Ed? I mean, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed worriedly, wiping her thumb off on my shirt.

I shot a scowl in her direction and swore under my breath. Nevertheless, her concern was touching, but not quite in the way I wanted it to be. I dragged the back of my hand across my lip, hoping to wipe away all the blood. Having done this satisfactorily enough, I gave her a crooked smile and a shrug. "I, uh, bite my lip a lot... and my lips have been really dry lately, what with the wind and all... Don't worry, Liz. I'm fine," I stammered lamely, but that wasn't completely true, of course. I'm a bastard who doesn't deserve you as a friend or a sister, and I need to permanently expunge these impure, inappropriate, indecent thoughts.

"You sure?" she asked skeptically, looking me over, "You don't look it." Don't I know it. I nodded and said some nondescript words of assent, _anything_ to get her off my back, to stop looking at me so closely and noticing things, dangerous things... We lapsed into silence, which came as a short-lived relief to me. However, Lizzie's eyes suddenly lit up with memory. "Oh, and before I forget, I asked Sylvia... about you... and, as much as I'm sorry to say it, she said no. Repeatedly," Liz interjected. Her voice was the perfect balance of sensitivity and mockery, and I didn't really appreciate it because she was already making me suffer enough.

Lizzie paused, though, drawing out the first word of her next sentence, "Bu-u-u-ut... I somehow managed to bully—uh—convince her to think it over," Liz announced cheerily. She grinned victoriously, which struck me as odd when she didn't even like the idea of me with Sylvia. "And, yes, I **am **the _best _sister of all time, and you owe me big," Lizzie continued smugly. I rolled my eyes at her. Actually, no, Sister Dear, you owe me. I haven't made you go out with some awful slob, and this was part of our bet. It was already owed to me.

Still, that didn't mean I didn't appreciate the gesture or how supportive she was being about it. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far," I teased back, putting my hands back on her hips and kind of pushing her away. "After all, you didn't actually get me a date with her. Like you were supposed to," I pointed out, giving her a look. Somehow Lizzie wound up in my lap, but I played it cool, acted unaffected.

She shrugged, fixing me with a stern glance. What do you expect, she seemed to say with her eyes. "I told you I made no promises. And I got her to _consider_ dating you. Which is better than nothing. So take what you can," Liz corrected with a bit of firm chastisement. She had a point there. A moment later, Lizzie hinged forward, unintentionally straddling me. She swung forward to press a soft kiss to my cheek, throwing her arms around my neck warmly. My face kind of slides towards her lips like I want her to catch the corner of my mouth. Her shirt rode up, a sliver of bare stomach pressed against my shirt, and the heat burned me. She pulled back just barely, beaming at me. "Thanks for the help, bro," she mumbled, smoothing my hair almost maternally.

It's an oddly intimate gesture because she doesn't really touch me like this. Except when she does, and it never fails to drive me completely freaking insane. Then Liz' legs clamped down around mine, pushing them together, making me even more uncomfortable. Before I can even process that, Lizzie's pressed her lips against mine, hard. Her lips kind of knock into mine, really. I struggled for one tense moment, alive with surprise and so, so determined to stop this, whatever _this_ is, from happening. Unfortunately, I'm not as strong as I like to pretend (wish) I am, so it kicks in like a reflex because I physically can't hold back anymore, not when the opportunity is literally in my lap and practically throwing itself at me.

I kissed her back feverishly, unthinkingly, hungrily, because I've wanted this, needed this for a while. The human contact alone is enough to bring me to the brink because it's been so long, and it feels pretty damn good. She doesn't do too much at first because the intensity of my reaction has even surprised her; she just kind of sits there and feels, takes what I have to dish out. Liz comes around later on, and it's not too late.

My hands come off of her hips fast because there's no telling what they'd do there and snake up and around, trying a variety of places for a few seconds but comfortable in none of them: not the hips (too seductive, too close, too volatile when hips don't lie), not the shoulders (too intimate), not the cheeks (too loving in an I'm-_in_-love-with-you-way), not the hair (too needy), not the arms (too rough, too demanding). Finally, my arms settle gently on the middle of her back, not the small of it, not the swell just before her ass, not her neck, not the fragile spinal column... all thin ice, dangerous territory that leads to more than I should give. I can't hold her too tightly or too closely; I have to keep my distance, even in the moment.

My tongue brushing her lips, gliding over sharp teeth, trailing across the inside of her cheeks, flicking over her tongue, and, God, it's hot. Liz shifts in my lap, down and forward, pressing against me unrelentingly, like a heavy weight in my lap. It hurts, the contrast of sharp angles and soft curves, the cage I'm trapped in, the lack of options, but I kind of almost... like it. Her lips are moist, giving, but she nips at me a little bit like a fish when I want to devour her whole, slow and sweet. And I don't want to stop, can't stop, can't separate her lips from mine, even if that's what I wanted.

Then she loses her balance and falls on top of me, and ha ha, it's not funny because why would it be? She pulled away, an almost scandalized look on her face, but she doesn't blush half as much as I do. Liz pushed away from me, palms on the mattress, using her hips to jerk her pelvis up and away from mine. She scrambled backwards off of me like a skittish crab, hair in her face, eyes wide, lips still red and swollen from the kiss. "What's gotten into you, Ed?" she managed to gasp, still breathless. I take a perverse pride in that for a second, almost letting a smirk cross my face before the meaning behind her words hits me like a bullet between the eyes. She means: why did you do that? Why didn't you kiss me like a brother would? Why didn't you stop? What does this mean?

There's no easy answer to that, unfortunately, so I just shrugged and said the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, don't turn this on me, Lizzie! You're the one who suddenly decided we were a kissing family!" I retorted a bit more forcibly than I intended, effectively reminding her that she was the one who'd initiated it. Her cheeks were a pale rose, but she looked more cross than anything. She crossed her arms over her chest, blowing the hair out of her face. It was really the only thing I could've said.

My fair sister, on the other hand, didn't say a word or even offer an explanation for why she'd started kissing me on the mouth recently, which was unfortunate because I very much wanted an explanation. Lizzie ran her fingers through her hair anxiously, tugging on the ends, lips tight and pursed. "Yeah, but I didn't tongue-rape you!" she countered petulantly, lowering her voice, fingering her lips, probing them as if to see if they felt different. Her eyes glittered almost menacingly. I bristled at her description of the kiss. If it was a violation of any kind, she sure didn't protest.

I rolled my eyes at her. "Oh, please, like you didn't enjoy it!" I replied automatically, leaning back against the headboard, banging the back of my head against it repetitively. It occurred to me that that was the only type of banging that was going to happen in this room. She'd initiated almost every kiss between us: the very first one, when she begged me to kiss her, the one after the thunderstorm, the one after the disastrous date with Teddy, and the fiery one at the hockey rink. She even complimented me on it! "Like you didn't _always_ enjoy it," I quipped caustically, shooting her a look. Lizzie's cheeks turned bright pink, and I allowed myself a small smirk. Then, suddenly, I reminded myself that she'd done the exact same thing two weeks ago. "Besides, you made out with me two weeks ago," I pointed out accusingly.

Her cheeks flushed an even brighter color, and for a long, tense moment, she couldn't argue with me. Then, straightening her clothes, she found the words. "I thought we agreed not to talk about that," she said quietly. I was surprised by her decision to change the subject. She was avoiding my eyes, picking at her sheets. "And, anyways," she announced suddenly, looking up at me, completely unafraid, "I didn't kiss you like I wanted to jump your bones." Her stare intimated that my kiss had meant that, and I wanted to argue with her, really I did, but I couldn't. I wanted to tell Lizzie that it was nothing personal because it'd been so long that I wanted to jump her if only because she was a girl and I saw her all the time, but I held my tongue.

"Wasn't that kind of the point?" I asked rhetorically. We had, after all, been arguing about my dubious attractiveness, and Lizzie had snapped and kissed me when I kept pressing the issue. Lizzie gave me a dark look and scowled at me, shoving me back against the headboard. My head hit the wood harder than before, so I rubbed the back of my neck.

A mean look flitted across her face. I wasn't aware it was such a touchy issue for her, much less with me. "You know what, Edwin? You sound just like _Derek_," she spat blisteringly. My spine stiffened instinctively; it felt like I'd been pushed into a frozen lake. My senses were frozen, numb, and prickly, save for a hot burst of hate towards Lizzie. She always knew just what to say to get under my skin. I couldn't even say anything, either. I was so shocked, stunned, offended, and furious that I was incapable of speech. I'm **so** sick of everyone saying that I'm just like him, of everyone always comparing him to me, of everyone always confusing me with him... when I'm not. Deep down, she was right, too. I _had_ sounded like Derek there, cold, bitter, and jaded, and that made me a little sick.

Lizzie didn't apologize for saying it, and that pissed me off. I didn't move a muscle, just stared at her, feeling betrayed. The anger began to build in me, to boil and bubble up to the surface like hydrolysis, and then I cracked. "I am _nothing_ like Derek, you hear me, Liz? I'm not going to waste my potential like he did, languishing at home, going _nowhere_. I'm not going to wind up completely miserable at the age of eighteen like he did. I'm not going to waste my time, yearning after some girl who doesn't care about me... And I am **not** a goddamn coward like he is! I am _**never**_ going to wind up like Derek!" I raged, not realizing I was shouting and shifting the bed until I was hoarse, sweaty, and out of breath (not unlike after I kissed Lizzie).

She looked taken aback more than anything but also kind of afraid. Of me. The thought was insulting because even if she made me want to pull out my hair on multiple occasions, I would never intentionally hurt her, physically or otherwise. Her eyes were wide with astonishment and such a vivid blue. She didn't know what to say for a while, because what could you really say to an emotional outburst like that? Oddly, when she finally did speak, she didn't say a single word in Derek's defense or disagree with what I'd said. "I get why you don't want to wind up like him, but... You're more like him than you think, Edwin, and one day you're going to have to face up to that," Liz told me stubbornly, punctuating her statement with a jab to my chest.

We stayed quiet for a long time after that. It was Lizzie who finally broke the silence by leaning over and hugging me. I didn't know what to do with my hands. "Look, Ed, you know I'm sorry. I know I've been really weird lately... I've just been going through a lot of things, you know?" She paused for a moment at the expression on my face and exhaled, rolling her eyes a little. "Okay, you're right. I've been kind of a bitch. And I wasn't even on my period, so I don't have an excuse," Liz admitted a touch reluctantly. I nodded, agreeing with her. She smiled and pressed a moist kiss to my cheek, ruffling my hair affectionately and then promptly pulling me into a headlock. "You know you love me," Lizzie said smugly, grinning down at me.

I rolled my eyes at her, but I had to admit she was right. Plus admitting she was right got me out of the headlock. Lizzie's eyes were affectionate and bright, despite the dark circles under her eyes. "Anyway, Ed, I'm exhausted. Wanna hit the sack?" she asked, already throwing her textbook on the ground and reaching over me towards the light. She didn't wait for an answer. Clearly I didn't really have a choice in the matter, and, upon a moment of reflection while Lizzie was stretching and turning off the light, I decided to stay. Liz slumped against me, slightly off balance, and reached over my leg to push my book aside. It, like Lizzie's book before it, fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Her hand rested comfortably (for her, yes, but hell for me) on my thigh. She moved a little bit away from me and then curled up next to me, pulling the sheets over us, and was soon fast asleep.

Unfortunately, I woke up just as turned on, tired, and hot as I'd been the night before, with Lizzie pressed against me. Her small hands clenched into fists, resting on my chest. One of her legs was thrown over mine, and her head was inexplicably buried in the crook of my neck, like I was a pillow. Needless to say, I pried myself away from her violently like I had a pair of pliers. Lizzie's a heavy sleeper, so she didn't wake up when I left. I snuck out of the room feeling more than a little ashamed, and promptly ran into my younger sister. It was early, a little before six, so it was surprising that Marti, who sleeps in whenever she can, was awake, let alone moving around the house.

Marti gave me an eerily suspicious look for a thirteen-year-old, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seriously, Edwin?" she asked disbelievingly, huffing at me. Since I had no idea what had her in such a snit, the expression of confusion on my face was genuine. Marti gave me a dirty look that oddly enough carried a lot of force behind it. "I know what you do with her behind closed doors," Marti said nastily, making a face at me. I almost fell over in shock because, apparently even my little sister, my own flesh and blood, thinks I'm having sex with my stepsister. Et tu, Marti? Marti's my sister, and I love her unconditionally, but she can be a real bitch sometimes. It's because she's used to always getting what she wants and just simpers and turns on the charm to get it. I must've turned the color of lead carbonate, standing there, mortified and frozen, like a pillar of salt.

Then I swallowed my pride and plastered on my face a grim little smile and asked her, "And what, exactly, do you think I do?" I gave her an expectant look, wanting, for some bizarre reason, to hear her say it aloud. I guess I wanted to see if she even could, but I should've known better than to underestimate Marti.

Marti put her hands on her hips and then proceeded to do exactly as I'd asked. "Well, I can't use the real word for it because you're my brother, and she's my sister, and it _disgusts_ me... but I can say that you have sex with her," Marti spat, glowering at me. She honestly looked like she wanted to spit on me. She gave me a dismissive look, but I wasn't about to let her get away with that. I'm not be wrapped around her little finger like Derek, and I'm wise to her little cutesy act.

I took a step towards Marti, crossing my arms over my chest menacingly. "Oh, really, Marti? If I was having sex with her, don't you think you'd hear it?" I retorted icily, cocking my head. After all, she is just down the hall, kind of close to my bedroom, even. I stared at Marti for a while, waiting for a reaction. I gestured to Lizzie's door. "Go in there if you want, but Lizzie's fully dressed and asleep like she's been for hours."

Marti's upper lip curled in a sneer (which, in my own opinion, is just wrong). "Don't flatter yourself, Ed... And why wouldn't Lizzie be anything less than fully dressed? It just means you cover your tracks, that's all. I'm not stupid, Edwin, and you can't make me believe that she's just a sister to you because I know better, okay?" Marti rejoined contemptuously. Marti's got this thing about people lying to her and not telling her things. It's really hard to believe that a thirteen-year-old can be so lippy to someone who isn't even her parent, but Marti's always been a little... precocious. Marti's nose went up in the air. "I don't get what she sees in you."

Even with all the words in the world, I cannot begin to express how pathetic it is that I've been insulted by a thirteen-year-old girl, or the fact that she's got Derek's verbal agility and thus could probably win in an argument. "Trust me when I say that she sees absolutely nothing in me." I would've said I wasn't her type, but I'm a Venturi, aren't I, so that's a lie. I realized retroactively that made it sound like I was disappointed that she didn't, and I'm really not disappointed that she's not into me. All I really wish is that she would stop sending me mixed messages. "And, contrary to what everyone thinks, I don't have sexual or romantic feelings for my _sister_. Because that's what she is, Marti... She's my sister, my family, same as you," I interjected irritably, leaving nothing open to interpretation in my voice.

Marti gave me a look, rolling her eyes at me. "Oh, please! It's not the same! You're not _my_ best friend," Marti exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly. It made me realize that I genuinely liked Lizzie a lot more than I liked my real sister most of the time. If I didn't know that Marti didn't want a closer relationship with me, I might've thought she was jealous. I rolled my eyes at Marti and left, deciding to be mature and privately admitting to myself that I didn't have time to defend myself to Marti. I'm hardly the persuasive one of this clan, so why even bother trying when my cynical little sister won't even try listening to a word I say?

The typical boring morning routine of getting ready for school took up most of the following time. Nothing exciting happened in school, and I was pretty quiet due to my state of exhaustion and irritation. I put another note in Lizzie's locker during break, and she found it and tore it apart because I'm no great romancer, clearly. The annoying thing is that I have to report back to Jamie, who then proceeds to berate me for failing at my task of both conveying the depths of his feelings for her and not making him seem laughable or ridiculous. This irritates me because, being her brother, I actually have none of these lovey-dovey sentiments (because I love her like a sister/mother and like a partner/friend but not like a wife or girlfriend), and I've never been good with poetic language. Plus, as if that wasn't enough, how the hell am I supposed to know how Jamie feels, and if he's not satisfied with my work, then why doesn't he just man up and woo my sister himself?

Easy. Because he's an asshat, pure and simple. I am many things, but cowardly I am not.

That being said, I ran into Sylvia Rothstein-Rosenberg in the hallway. Sylvia, one of Lizzie's closest friends, is rather short... not to mention freaking gorgeous and totally unaware of it. Her hair's dark brown, almost black, like mine and naturally curly. She's worn it in these bouncy ringlets of curls for years; the boys always loved pulling on her hair in grade school to see if it would bounce back. Her eyes are dark brown, again like mine. Unlike Lizzie, Sylvia is what you would call a "girly-girl." She's soft and feminine, popular, quiet, and well-mannered. She's also very well-dressed and considered a kind of fashionista around school. Sylvia's also a really charming person, easy to get along with, and a bit of a flirt. Unfortunately, however, she can't keep a secret or lie to save her life and thus tends to be a bit of a blabbermouth.

Sylvia smiled at me sunnily, and I walked over to her, deciding to test the waters a little. "Hey, Sylvia. What's up?" I asked, hoping I wasn't trying too hard. It's hard to get back in the saddle again, you know, especially when I haven't been looking for a serious relationship since... Michelle. I've had girlfriends since, but none of them ever lasted more than a few months because I wasn't really looking for a lasting relationship. I didn't want to get emotionally invested, and maybe I still don't... but I want something more than what I've got right now.

She shrugged. "Nothing much, really, Edwin... I'm just waiting for Lizzie, actually, before class. She said she had something to show me, and it's probably one of those silly secret admirer notes she's been getting lately," Sylvia told me. I fought the urge to grimace. Great, she's reading them to the girls... just what I need.

"Yeah," was my halfhearted response.

Sylvia gave me an odd look and, stranger still, offered me a secretive smile. "Honestly, though, I'm kind of jealous... I mean, sure they're kinda cheesy and slightly ridiculous, but underneath all that, I can tell that there's someone out there who genuinely cares about Lizzie," Sylvia confided. I met her eyes, both surprised and flattered, and Sylvia shyly averted her gaze. She cleared her throat almost awkwardly. "Well, anyways... that stuff _always _happens to Liz, you know?" she offered as means of an explanation, but the tight smile on her face didn't fool me. I still heard the hint of envy in her voice, the slight bitterness of resignation because that was the way it always was and always would be. I knew it well because it was something I recognized in my own voice. "Anywho, what's up with you, Edwin?" she asked with an affected brightness.

I gave her my best charming Derek smile (because, unbelievably, I actually can flirt when I want to). "Oh, you know... just finding an excuse to talk to a pretty girl," I told her sincerely. Sylvia blushed prettily and giggled a little, shaking her head at me. I put my hand on her arm affectionately, leaning in closer. "You really are pretty, you know," I continued flirtatiously. Sylvia reddened further.

"Well, you sure are laying it on thick, Edwin..." she said a bit sheepishly before pausing. She regained a bit of her senses in the silence and then sobered considerably. "So, seriously, why are you talking to me? This isn't about Lizzie's birthday, is it? Because we both know it isn't for months, and that you'll undoubtedly get her something she likes more than anything I will ever get her," Sylvia rambled, looking a bit put-out (probably because Lizzie always did like my presents better). There was a curious, appraising look in her eyes. I have several ideas for Lizzie and a couple back-ups just in case I can't find something better, so I've actually already got that covered.

I frowned at Sylvia, disappointed she'd cut down to the quick like that. Maybe Lizzie was right. Maybe Sylvia was just being polite, and she really wasn't into me at all. I'd never really believed Lizzie when she said Sylvia wasn't attracted to me, but maybe Lizzie was right. After all, why would she lie to me? I couldn't really pretend like this situation wasn't awkward either. "I'm kind of insulted you would think that low of me, Sylvia..." Sylvia did look a bit chagrined at that; she wasn't one to be blunt. I raised an eyebrow. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted to talk to you? I mean, we can talk about things other than Lizzie, you know," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice from heading into that dangerous, edgy territory. Then, smooth as can be, I suggested, "Carry your books?"

Sylvia nodded without realizing what she was saying yes to, which I counted as a small victory, and I scooped her books out of her arms, piling them on top of mine and turning and beginning to walk towards her class. This was a brilliant move, thus forcing her to follow me and also keeping her interested because I was being unavailable. Sometimes, Derek's dating advice is actually sound, especially if you want to make a girl both interested in you and aware of you. Sylvia hurried after me, just as predicted, and tapped me on the shoulder. She gave me an exasperated look. "Oh, come on, Ed. Clearly it hasn't eclipsed that big brain of yours... _We._ Don't. Do. _This_," she enunciated, gesturing between the two of us rapidly.

I blinked at her, confused, but didn't stop walking. Maybe she really isn't interested at all, and I ought to stop pestering her before she decides she won't even consider going out with me. "What don't we do? Talk?" I wondered aloud. She nodded vigorously, and of course she was kind of right. We talked from time to time, but usually it was about Lizzie, in Lizzie's presence, or while at my house or some other place, thrown together because of Lizzie. Even those times, it's usually nothing more than chitchat or something Lizzie-related. I guess she's right to be suspicious and weirded out, then. Sylvia trailed behind me since she was wearing high heels and unable to catch up with me. I shot a glance over my shoulder, and Sylvia was flushed and looked a bit irritated.

Hm, I thought, biting my lip, maybe I should really give up now. After all, severely irritating a girl to the point where all of her thoughts are tinged with shades of you didn't work out too well (or, at all) for Derek, now did it? Sure, she's focused on you at all times, but she's also focused on how much you piss her off and hates and resents you for it. Sylvia huffed at me. "Jeez, could you slow down? If this is you walking me to class, you really suck at it," Sylvia remarked somewhat irritably. By that point I'd reached the classroom, and she was down the hall, so I was patiently waiting for her to catch up.

She gave me a flustered look, and I smiled to myself, thinking that she looked really hot all worked up like that. And maybe now I understood why Derek did that, why he made it his job in life to be absolutely infuriating. There was something fascinating about winding people up, letting them go, and observing how they reacted, whether or not they spun out of control... Sylvia pushed some of her hair out of her face and reached over, making a face, and grabbed her books. I, on the other hand, leaned against the doorway (who am I, James Dean?) and offered her a shrug. "Well, I got you here, didn't I?" I countered somewhat smugly.

Sylvia rolled her eyes at me. "Look, I've been around Lizzie long enough to know about all your little moves. And if you think this is charming or whatever, you're seriously cracked," Sylvia quipped, a serious look on her features. Was she always this feisty, and if so, was she flirting back or really just not even remotely interested? I stared her down, and Sylvia fidgeted a bit but loosened up. Then I heard a beautiful sound bubbling forth from those lips: laughter. "You know, for a guy who was so persistent about talking to me, you don't seem to be doing much talking..."

I cocked an eyebrow at her, unable to hide the surprise on my face. "Was that an invitation?" I drawled, giving her a blatant once-over. Sylvia smiled coyly but didn't say a word. She motioned for me to go on, so I did. "I mean... I don't know. Not talking with you's pretty fun too, Sylvie... But, honestly, you know I'm not good at this... whole... knowing what to say... thing," I told her casually at first but then awkwardly. Sylvia raised her eyebrows at the nickname I'd said without thinking, but slowly an approving smile crept across her face. She placed a hand on her hip and leaned forward.

"Guess it's a good thing I happen to like your not-talking then, isn't it, Venturi?" Sylvia responded, a flirtatious glint in her eyes. Okay, so she is flirting with me? And that means that Lizzie was wrong, not that that's necessarily a new thing, but, huh... Maybe Sylvia actually... Anyway, we both started to lean in, and I kind of put my hands on her arms and pulled her towards me, fully intending to kiss her, but we were rudely interrupted by Sylvia's Literature teacher, who cleared her throat and shot the both of us dirty looks. This was the very same teacher who'd assigned Derek and Casey that Percy and Mary Shelley project years ago, so she already didn't like me. Sylvia's face fell, and she rolled her eyes behind the teacher's back, regretfully walking into class.

As for me, I was disappointed, of course, but I've long ago become accustomed to disappointment, so it's practically a friend to me. The rest of the day passed unremarkably, as expected. There are so many points in high school that make you question what you're really doing there because it just all feels like a waste of time and like you're not learning a single thing. Today was one of those days, and I was exhausted and bored out of my mind, so when I got home I finished my homework in less than an hour and then passed out on my bed for like, six hours or something.

Lizzie generally has practice of some sort after school, so, because my dear sister is environmentally friendly, she had a fellow player drive her home. What I'd forgotten was that there was a huge party that night. Being that I desperately need to get laid, I was intending to go, but my body ultimately decided sleep was more important. The party scene isn't usually Lizzie's thing because she's so focused on school and sports that she doesn't want to poison her body with liquor. Lizzie also hates having drunk guys hit on her, and when she does go to a party it's usually with a bunch of guys she trusts by her side (a posse of dumb, overprotective jocks in general, as scraw-erm, lanky... men such as myself cannot defend her).

I woke up a couple times, but the time that stuck was a little past midnight. My door groaned open. I woke up just as Lizzie was stumbling into my bedroom. Lizzie's generally a very coordinated person, so I immediately knew she was drunk. I didn't, however, know just _how_ drunk she was or why she'd started drinking. She was quiet but still making far more noise than she ordinarily would sneaking into my bedroom. She was tripping over little things on the floor, acting like she'd never been there before, not avoiding the creaky floorboards. My vision was still a little fuzzy from sleep, so I blinked furiously so I could see what was going on. What I saw surprised my sleepy brain.

There was Lizzie, all arms and legs and bare skin, looking for all the world like a fallen goddess, shuffling towards me in the dark. Her hands were groping in the darkness, stretching towards me. The only light in my room was courtesy of the moonlight and the open door to the hallway. I squinted and noticed what Lizzie was wearing. She was wearing a bright red sleeveless shirt. It was cut down the front a bit to reveal (too much) cleavage, and it rode up a little, baring tempting flashes of midriff. I could also faintly make out the outline of her bra through her shirt. She was also wearing a black suede fringe miniskirt she'd stolen from Casey's cast-offs. She was teetering in platform gladiator sandals that she rarely wore, swaying on her feet. Her clothes were slightly rumpled, disheveled even, with one strap kind of halfway down her shoulder. Her hair was unkempt, messy and long, and soaked through with sweat. Most of her make-up had worn off, leaving her lips a bare, glossy pink. She looked like hell.

Upon seeing her, I sat up, and Lizzie fumbled to my bed, practically collapsing on it. She was a lot drunker than I'd realized. Then Lizzie kind of crawled up my bed so she was kind of sprawled across my lap, hands falling on either side of my thighs. She was giving me a strange, dark, almost feral look, which I interpreted as a very inebriated way of coming on to me. Her eyes were dark and wild like her hair and that night (apparently there had been several severe thunderstorms while I was unconscious that I perhaps briefly remembered). Drunk, she had even less self-awareness than she did sober. Her eyes were glazed; and it was as if she had no idea she was basically on top of my lap, knees knocking against mine. Lizzie giggled almost manically; it was a low, borderline hysterical sound, and she accidentally hiccupped once or twice doing it. "You're so slippery," she murmured, adjusting her somewhat precarious position like she thought she was falling or at sea. She bumped her nose against my face rather affectionately.

I swallowed, and Lizzie grinned like a child and threw her arms around my neck, locking them there and clinging to me like a life raft. She shifted forward, resting her forehead against mine for a brief moment and closing her eyes. "Everything's spinning," she muttered, squinting her eyes closed, as if to make the spinning go away. I tried to say something to comfort her, but she interrupted, straightening a little. She made a little sound in the back of her throat and blinked at me, eyes heavy lidded. "God, I want you so _bad," _she rasped, twisting forward. That voice and her breath on my neck almost did me in. I knew she wasn't really talking to me either; I could smell the liquor on her breath (cheap, cheap vodka or malt liquor), and I knew she was so far gone I could be anyone right now. But that didn't mean I could turn off the attraction like I wanted to.

She deliberately brushed her nose against mine affectionately, simultaneously bucking her hips against mine violently. She pulled the full length of her body up against mine, like plaster or a second skin. "Touch me," she moaned in a high whisper. When I didn't, keeping my hands in the appropriate places, she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed my hands and placed them on top of her hips, sliding so that her pelvis was flush against mine and grinding into me. She let out a small gasp and covered my fingers with her own yet again, sliding my hands around to her ass so I couldn't protest. Then she relaxed a little against me, almost purring, and dragged one of my hands up her shirt, over her bare skin, stopping at her bra-covered breast and squeezing. I was glad the fabric was between us because it burned every time my hand touched her bare skin. My hands felt like they were on fire, and I wanted to pull them away, but Lizzie's grip was too strong.

A small sound came out of her, and my whole body shuddered just a little bit. She repeated the gesture before I could do anything about it. Lizzie's voice was hoarse. "_Please_, just touch me," she implored desperately. That voice did things to me. Then she moved my hand when I wouldn't, off her ass, around her hipbone, sliding down the smooth, taut slope of her thigh. She continued, forcing my hand under her rumpled skirt and up her thigh, but that was where I regained control and stopped short of her destination. She let out a low whine and tried to force my fingers up, but I wouldn't budge. Then she pressed a stream of sloppy kisses to my jawline in a futile attempt to distract me, but the whole time Derek's words echoed in my head.

I finally understood exactly what he meant. It would feel good to just give in to it, to let myself go, to do what I'd been thinking and dreaming about doing for weeks, but it'd feel good for a moment and... for what? I would have screwed up quite possibly the most important relationship in my life, and there was no doubt in my mind that Lizzie would hate me for taking advantage of her. So I found the strangled words, "Lizzie, this is Edwinyou're talking to, and you're going to regret this in the morning, so why don't you stop?" The plea was naked in my voice. I tried to push her away, but Lizzie held fast.

She laughed in my face rather unattractively. "Edwin, really? That was the _best_ excuse you could come up with... Come on, you know I'm not into Edwin," she murmured, laughing like it was the most hilarious thing in the world, shifting into me. Forgive me, but I didn't really think it was that funny. Her laugh was sharp and mocking, and I wanted to shove her and her octopus limbs away from me. "'E's not my type." What are you talking about Lizzie? I am a Venturi! Apparently that **is** your type! Liz leaned into me, trying to find my lips, but I turned my head away from her, not wanting her to touch me anymore. I had a sneaking suspicion she thought I was Derek, and I was feeling pretty insulted. "I like real men," she muttered, fingering my shirt. She started to undo the buttons to the shirt I was wearing.

I glowered at her and slapped her hands away. What is it with Lizzie and thinking that I'm not a real man? After all this time and embarrassment on my behalf, haven't I proven that much to her? I pried her hands away from my chest irritably, scowling at her, ducking away from her. "Then why do you want to screw me, huh? I'm not a _real_ man, remember?" I practically snarled, pushing her back and away from me, trying my hardest to get her off of my lap. I gave her a dismissive look, realizing that might confuse her, and added viciously, "And I don't do virgins anyways. They just lie there and make a guy do all the work and expect for us to get off to that." I just about bared my teeth at Lizzie, and I could tell that had affected her at least because she drew away from me a little.

Lizzie didn't shy away from me completely, though, like I wanted her to... because when does she ever do what I want her to do? She stared at me for a long time and then she let out a laugh, throwing her hand against my chest, pressing me against my backboard. She blinked a lot too, head bobbing drunkenly, and oddly, seemed to take none of my comments to heart. "You don't wanna sleep with me?" she slurred, her tone a mixture of disbelief and doubt. Apparently even Lizzie isn't convinced that I don't want to sleep with her. God. Have I mentioned lately how much my life sucks? Because I feel that I should. Then Liz giggled, like she didn't believe that at all. Her face took on a sober expression. "It's because I'm your stepsister, isn't it?" she managed to state bluntly.

I choked on my own saliva a little (but she'd said stepsister, not sister like normal), and Lizzie took my stunned silence as a sign to wrap a hand around her neck. Her other hand came down to rest on my chest, sliding down my abdomen. My lips fell open, and a strangled noise came out of my mouth. Then Lizzie arched forward, pressing little moist kisses to my face and neck that drove me crazy. Her hand slipped under my shirt, skimming over the bare skin of my lower abdomen, two fingers trailing up my stomach, tracing a single finger across my pectorals. The traitorous muscles tightened involuntarily under her touch. It was then that it hit me that of course she probably thought I was Derek, hence the sudden necessity of the distinction we never used and the talking about me like I wasn't in the room. I bit down hard on my bottom lip.

And I had to discourage her from this as soon as possible, in any way possible, because there's only so much more I can take. "No, Liz," I told her shortly, feeling my control slipping, "You're my _sister_. Big difference." What do I have to say? No, I don't want to screw your damn brains out? If someone asked me that on a lie detector test, I'm honestly not sure I'd pass. Lizzie pouted, crossing an arm over her chest. Her fingers continued to trail up and down my stomach, and then she gave me a look that was so wanton, so heavy and naked with lust that I almost came right then and there. My breath was ragged from the effort of containing these conflicting feelings bottled up tight like a volatile gas.

She shook her head stubbornly and refused to listen to my fully legitimate excuse. She tapped her fingers against my lower belly thoughtfully, kneading the skin there just enough to make my eyes start to roll back into my head. Liz laughed a little, tightening the grip of her hips around mine and rocking back and forth teasingly. She pushed her skirt up a bit more, not like I couldn't already see flashes of the silky underwear (red, like her top) from time to time or feel it slide, no, practically _glide_ over the front of my jeans, to bring us into closer contact. She twisted her hips like a whirling dervish, rubbed herself against me, down on me, hot and gritty and letting out little gaspy sighs and shudders if the touch connected like a spark. "Come on, babe, I can feel what I do to you. I do _this_ to you, don't I? And it feels good, doesn't it?" she breathed, sliding her hand down my chest and over my abdomen, resting her hand lightly on the front of my jeans.

I tried to wiggle away, but Liz attempted to grip harder, practically squeezing me. My mouth dropped open in a mixture of pain and pleasure and immense pressure. I forced myself not to groan, not not make a single sound. Liz' eyes glittered almost maliciously, flashing, winking at me like a stormy, violent sea. Her spine straightened a bit in seeming triumph. I knew all too well that look in her eyes because I'd seen it on Derek's face many a time. It was the smug certainty that came with knowing that you were about to get exactly what you wanted, with the firm conviction that nothing could stop it from happening or take that away from you. I gritted my teeth and grabbed her wrists bruisingly, pulling them away from me, so that she wouldn't touch me.

For once, her drunkenness worked in my favor, as it meant her movements were less coordinated and forceful than they would've been if she was sober. Furthermore, the alcohol distorted her perception, giving me the advantage. Still, she put up a hell of a fight, and it took everything in me, every single stretch of my muscles, (and some cajoling of a flirtatious nature) to pull her hands away, to pin her to the bed. She giggled and made some inane comment, trying to hook her leg around my lower back to bring me closer. I shimmied away from her leaden limbs, but that didn't stop her from rolling and thrusting and pivoting her hips forward, backward, side-to-side, in a circular motion... etcetera... and pressing against me wantonly, desperately, knowing exactly where I was vulnerable. Seriously, is this sexual harassment like a once-a-month thing? Next time, damn it, and I do believe that there is going to be a next time when Lizzie's out of her mind with sleep deprivation, drunkenness, or horniness, I am going to be prepared for this. I will have a plan, damn it.

My grip slackened, but I reminded myself I had to be firm and unrelenting, like Derek would be. I closed my eyes for a second and drew from the wellspring of resentment, rage, irritation, and frustration within me, and I did my best to put myself in Derek's body, to think as he would, to do as he would, to say as he would. As much as people like to talk about Derek's soft side being a secret, it really isn't. He's generally a good guy or at least a well-intentioned jerk, a bit of a jackass, but all around lovable. The secret is that Derek has a dark side too: a bitter, melancholic, mean side that doesn't come out much. He hides it from the world, like he hides all of his emotions, but my brother is a master of cruelty. He's got a secret sadistic streak inside of him; he likes pushing buttons, breaking rules, toeing the line, and unleashing psychological torment. He always knows just what vicious words to say to cut a person down to the bone, just how to exploit a weakness in your character.

This precision, though rarely directed at me, is something I have always feared and admired, so I sought to emulate him so maybe she'd get the message. I wanted this to be a kind of painful lesson that stuck in her head and made her stop... messing with me or fantasizing about Derek for good. So I tousled my hair like Derek would, and then I lowered my voice an octave to that low, husky, bored drawl of his. I took on his confidence, his swagger, his attitude, and then I smirked just as he would've, leaning in real close. Lizzie moistened her lips with her tongue, pouting a little, inching forward like she expected a kiss, but I stayed just far enough away so her lips couldn't even brush mine, although the air buzzed with our nearness, and the tension crackled in the air.

Then I shook my head decisively. "No, Liz, it's not that... That part's fine," I murmured, voice emotionless and bored, like it didn't mean a thing. Then I let that wicked grin flash on my face, hinging forward a little. Lizzie's breath caught in her throat, and I brushed a finger against her cheek. Her head arched into my hand like a cat arches towards the person who's petting it and making it purr. I was more than a little disgusted by the gesture. "You're just the wrong stepsister," I declared coldly, cruelly, turning her cheek away. I patted her cheek with a mocking affection. "Sorry, Lizard, but _Casey's_ the stepsister I've always wanted, and you will **never** be her to me," I continued in a menacing, almost threatening voice that warned her against trying.

"I don't want _you_, Liz," I murmured viciously, in a tone that was at once a loving caress and a dismissive denunciation, as if she was ridiculous for thinking that I could ever want her. Her pupils were dilated, her eyes wide but not wet, her body paralyzed with fear and shock. Her face was pale, her skin was cold and clammy. Disgust briefly flitted across her blank stare, but it was soon replaced with an undeserved pity and that naked desperation that made me so sick to my stomach. The surprise, however, did not leave her face. I let go of her slowly, indelicately dropping her arms and moving away from her.

I flashed my teeth at her in a feral, dangerous attempt at a smile. "Now, get the hell out of my room," I ordered in a voice that was practically a growl. She rose on shaky feet, staring at me in disbelief, looking sad, lonely like a broken doll, (and that crippled some vital part of me) but I kept my stare firm, icy, and unrelenting until she padded to the door. Once the door closed, I let out a deep breath and buried my head in my hands, unable to believe I'd just done that, just hurt her like that out of necessity. I squinted my eyes shut, forcing them open roughly, telling myself not to be remorseful. I'd done what had to be done, what was necessary for my sanity, and I shouldn't have to feel bad for that.

So I laid back in my bed, trying my best to not think about what had just transpired, or, for that matter, Lizzie at all. Nevertheless, when something like that, something that intense, happens to you, you can't just forget about it, so my mind was running in circles. My thoughts circled around the same central point, spinning faster and faster, jumping from thought to thought, like electrons. As I laid there, I started to wonder why and how she had mistaken me for Derek in the first place. The more I thought about it, the less the pieces came together to form a coherent whole.

Firstly, although it was a Friday (and Derek traditionally shows his face around here on weekends or perhaps once or more a week), I wasn't even positive if Derek was staying at home that night. Depending on his level of exhaustion, he collapses at his apartment or sometimes goes out to a party or date on Fridays. Second, I must point out the obvious: my room is a floor above Derek's. It doesn't really even sit directly above Derek's room. My room is also set up very differently than Derek's room. My room's longer and narrower, whereas Derek's room is wider and squarish, awash in bright colors and posters and messy clothes.

The attic is also positioned differently, so my room is arranged differently than Derek's room. Lizzie is well aware of this, and that means that she had to know she was in my room, at least on some level, because she easily made her way through my room. I'm basically a neat person, so my room is orderly but a bit stark and minimalist in decoration. My dresser is on the left side of the wall by the door. My couch, television, bookcase, and coffee table are on the opposite side of the door in the corner. My desk is against the back wall, kind of in a dusty corner away from the windows. There are a couple window seats on the wall opposite my bed. Finally, family clutter (boxes) takes up about a fourth of the total space in my room, making it appear more cramped than it really is.

Aside from the differences in the room, there are also other physical differences between us, no matter how similar Lizzie thinks we are. She should've realized these differences in the dark, touching me. Most obviously, Derek, toned from years of hockey, is far more strong and muscular than I am. His skin has a different texture, too, tough, calloused, scarred in places, from years of fights. Furthermore, he's a couple inches taller than me, and he's heavier. As if that wasn't enough, Derek takes meticulous care of his hair. He slathers on product, styles it extensively, and uses fancy shampoo and conditioner (and sometimes even a blow-dryer). His hair is soft, shiny, artfully messy, and, of course, perfect, nine times out of ten... and _long_, for a guy. My hair, on the other hand, is a bit coarser, a bit curlier, a little more unmanageable, and medium-length.

We also have different coloring, although I can see how that might be hard to notice in the dark. Everything about Derek is lighter, brighter, freaking _golden_: his reddish-brown hair, his light brown eyes, his gleaming white smile, except his skin, which is fairly tan for a hockey player. I, on the other hand, have dark, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, a dimmer smile, and pale skin that likes to freckle and burn in the sunlight. We smell differently, too. Derek usually smells like some combination of sweat, charm, and this musky cologne. I, on the other hand, smell like soap, aftershave, and cheap cologne. Finally, Derek's voice has this low, cocky, raspy quality and a mocking, playful lilt to it that oozes confidence and sex appeal and I-own-the-world. My voice is a little higher, more strained, more monotone, comical almost.

All that left me wondering whether or not she'd deliberately stumbled into my room. The alcohol could've blurred her senses, sure, but could it have confused her perception that much? Then again, if she had come into my room with the intention of... seducing me, or whatever... she wouldn't have made fun of me. It was like she was speaking to someone else, and that someone was Derek. She hadn't said his name once, though.

Maddeningly enough, the room smelled like her, a heady mixture of perfume, sweat, alcohol, and arousal. If I closed her eyes, I could still feel the imprints of her hands on my skin, still remember the way it made me shudder minutely. I could still feel her, feel the warm weight of her in my lap, on me, against me. Every time I closed my eyes I saw her face, hurt, confused, lusty, bright, determined, wicked, mocking me. Eventually, after at least thirty minutes of that, I broke down and stormed downstairs. I foolishly barged into Lizzie's room without knocking.

Fortunately, she was in her room, sitting in her bed, shoes thrown off, arms around her knees. She was also quietly sobbing in a way that broke my heart more than it would have had she been loudly bawling. When the door opened with a faint click, Lizzie glanced up and saw me. She swallowed hard and started to compose herself. I opened my mouth to apologize, but in a flash, Lizzie was jumping off the bed and pouncing on me. "I knew you were lying... I knew you'd come back," she murmured, throwing her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest. I rubbed her back automatically, glad that she wasn't jumping me.

My happiness was short-lived, however, because Lizzie pulled away and looked at me for a moment before dragging my head down roughly and firmly pulling me into a demanding open-mouthed kiss. I could barely register what she was doing to me. She jumped up clumsily, throwing her arms all around me, knocking into me. I didn't kiss her back at all, but Liz has a way of forcing me to do things... However, she finally allowed me to pull away for air, and when I did, I scrambled to think of something to do. "Lizzie, you're drunk, and you need to sober up," I told her firmly, shepherding her into the bathroom because it was the first place that came to mind.

She pouted at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "I do not," she proclaimed defiantly, fighting me every inch of the way. She stopped, one foot still in the doorway, holding her ground. Then she gave me a mildly inviting look, pulling me towards her. "Besides, I was a lot more comfortable inside," she insisted suggestively, tugging on my arm.

I put both of my hands on her arms, wrapping them around her wrists, and then decided to try a new tactic. I came closer to her, brushing against her, looking her square in the eyes. Just for a moment, I let my body do all the talking. I skimmed the fingers of my hand up the one arm and traced a line across her collarbone and the curve of her cleavage. Then I gave her a meaningful look and licked my lips purposefully, shifting closer still. "I'm not going to take advantage of you, Liz... but if you were sober..." I let my voice trail off, intent clear in the implication. She warmed right up to that, all right, melting like gallium in my hands. She went starry-eyed too, kind of limp.

Then I started to lead her to the bathroom, slowly at first. As I saw her in the light of the hallway, I noticed how worse for the wear she looked. Her skin had an unnatural pallor; her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked somewhat sickly. I flicked the lights of the bathroom on, and Lizzie desperately tried to pull away, for some inexplicable reason. My body remembered the intense force I'd used to get her away from my sleeping brother and later me, and I channeled that energy from hockey into dragging her to the bathroom. The unflattering florescent lighting in the bathroom flickered dangerously, too bright for our eyes. Liz looked disoriented and clutched her head with her hand, swallowing thickly.

She blinked dully, looking at herself in the mirror, and then, all of a sudden, she was running to the toilet, throwing the seat up violently. Her knees crashed to the floor as her whole body sagged. Porcelain slammed against porcelain as she threw her head over the bowl of the toilet and vomited. I hurried after her, sharply pulling her hair away from her face and holding it back with one hand. She let out a garbled whine. I rubbed her back soothingly with the other hand as she continued to retch. I drew back a little from the pungent, acidic scent, unable to watch. The sound of her regurgitating made my stomach turn, but she kept heaving for what felt like ages.

There was a point where nothing came out of her anymore, and, spent, she finally stopped throwing up. I let go of her hair slowly. Her hands finally released their white-knuckled death grip on the rim of the toilet, and she slowly turned her body away, back sliding down the porcelain base of the toilet until she was almost lying on the floor. Her face was pale like magnesium, and sweaty, her hair matted and plastered to her forehead. She groaned softly, closing her eyes against the light and laying her cheek on the cool porcelain. I sighed, knowing it fell to me to clean up everything. I got up and flushed the toilet with some disgust, walking over to the sink and pouring a glass of water. I also set Lizzie's toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter and walked back over to her, glass in hand.

I crouched down, offering her the glass. Lizzie, sensing my presence, placed her hands on the floor, prying her cheek off of the base of the toilet. She grunted, attempting to push herself up into a standing position. Her arms were strong enough, but her legs were like jello and couldn't support her weight. If she managed to get her torso even a few inches off the floor, she came crashing down onto the wood floorboards mere moments later. She let out a sigh of frustration, leaning back against the toilet. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked at the glaring light.

Upon seeing me, she frowned and blinked a couple more times, suddenly straightening. "Edwin?" she mumbled, looking disoriented. What, Lizzie, surprised it's me? I nodded, handing her the glass of water. She looked up and gave me a grateful look, accepting the glass.

"Gargle it," I advised, patting her on the head. Liz winced. I got up out of the crouch, grabbing the disinfectant and some toilet paper. First I wiped the seat off, cleaning it before pouring the toilet bowl cleaner in the toilet and leaving it there. Lizzie did as I said and then craned her neck up and around to spit in the toilet bowl. I shot her a dark look and flushed the toilet. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and handed me the empty glass, smiling sheepishly.

No matter how much I wanted to, I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her. I refilled the glass, setting it back down on the counter. "You're dehydrated, and you need to drink something... But first you should probably brush your teeth," I said, motioning to the sink. Lizzie made a face at me, but I held my arms out to her to help her to the sink. She got up woozily and, with my assistance, dragged herself over to the sink. With trembling hands, she put the toothpaste on the brush and started to brush her teeth sloppily. Though she braced herself with a hand on the sink, I was standing behind her to keep her wobbly knees from collapsing.

When she finally spit in the sink, she rinsed off the toothbrush. She downed the glass of water in a few gulps. Then she turned around and basically fell into my arms. She wasn't unconscious, but she was worse than I'd ever seen her. "How many drinks did you have?" I asked her, but she was less than forthcoming with an answer. She made some weak, inane gesture with a flash of her fingers. I used my fingers to feel around for her pulse, which was a bit erratic but otherwise stable. I glanced at her. "You need to sober up."

She'd sobered up some, but she was still a hot, drunk mess. Together, Liz and I made our way to the shower. I turned the knob midway, unable to decide whether cold or hot water would be better. Lizzie reached a hand out to feel the water, then, wobbling on her feet, she pulled her shirt up and over her head. She pushed her skirt off her hips, and it proceeded to drop to the floor in an ungraceful heap. She wobbled so dangerously that I had to grip her around the waist to steady her. All the while, I was trying not to think of what her proximity and lack of clothing was doing to me. I reached over to turn the shower's water even colder.

Liz took my hand and stepped over the side of the bathtub and into the shower. She turned around, easing into the water and gave me a look. Her face and hair were already wet, and there was something very dark and provocative in that stare, enticing. She motioned for me to join her, tugging on my hand imploringly. Lizzie pouted, turning in the water and giving me that look that made me give in every time. I followed her in unwillingly, trying my best to stay out of the water. Lizzie was facing it, in only her underwear (a partially damp red satin set), half-leaning against the wall.

Then she turned her head back around to face me, offering me a smile, and started to unfasten her bra with one hand. I blinked at her, eyes suddenly as wide as Jupiter. What the hell was she doing? My thoughts became increasingly more panic-stricken because I didn't know what to expect. The smile she was giving me seemed coy, but she was drunk out of her mind and swaying on her feet. Then she slowly peeled the soaked red fabric away from her skin, throwing it on the floor, shaking out her hair. Was that an invitation? Nevertheless, I averted my eyes to avoid even a glimpse of her breasts from the side. She shivered in the cool water, awkwardly wrapping her arms around her chest, hugging herself for warmth.

Just when I thought she couldn't surprise me anymore, Lizzie turned around to face me, hands bent, fingers splayed to cover her chest. I couldn't stop staring. The strange position of her hands gave her impossible cleavage. Droplets of water beaded on her skin, coming together and trailing down the tan skin. "Please, Ed, help me," she begged. She adjusted her breasts, covering most of them with one slim arm tucked under the other one which was thrown against the wall. Her knees wobbled, and her legs shook dangerously. She was having trouble even standing on her own, so I hesitantly reached out and put my hands on her waist, just holding her in place.

"Turn around," I instructed. She did as I said, turning around and letting me bear the brunt of her weight. She leaned back into my hands almost unconsciously. I was so hyperconscious of her presence that I hardly noticed the chill seeping into my clothes, but Lizzie was slowly drawing me forward. She bent down to grab the shampoo and lost her balance, almost falling over and braining herself. If it hadn't been for my arms locked around her waist, she would have fallen. Instead, she remained so far bent over that her head was maybe a foot away from the ground, pulling me forward from her momentum. This movement brought her ass into contact with with my front, pressing into me insistently as I pulled her back up.

She giggled dizzily, shamelessly turning to hand me the bottle of shampoo. I exhaled irritably, though it came out as more of a hiss. I took the bottle and popped it open, pouring the shampoo into my hand. I started to put the shampoo on her head, spreading it through her hair and lathering it. As I was wrapped up doing that, Lizzie's fingers slid down her sides and hooked in the waistband of her underwear, pulling her panties off and throwing them on the bathroom floor. One hand in her hair, I looked down and was jolted to notice that she was completely naked and wet, and one of my arms was hooked around her waist. As if I hadn't been aroused enough already, I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she was wet and naked and well, maybe she wouldn't mind if I were to turn her around and... I tried and failed to suppress a low groan.

Lizzie attempted to turn around, but Derek's words sounded like a warning bell in my head, so I roughly forced her head back under the water. "Close your eyes and tilt your head back, Liz. You don't want to get soap in your eyes," I muttered, gritting my teeth. Lizzie made a noise of protest, pitching forward a little, but my arm held her firmly in place, my hand pressing into her stomach. My clothes were wet, heavy, and constricting, and I was uncomfortable, weighed down. Liz surprised me by wrapping an arm around the back of my waist to brace herself. I slowly slid my other hand off her stomach and into her hair, using both hands to massage her scalp and wash the shampoo out of her hair. Lizzie sighed contentedly, resting her backside against my front. I swallowed hard but continued rinsing her hair nonetheless.

This is more than what any normal friend would do for another friend. This is more than what any brother would or should do for his sister. This isn't normal, and it isn't natural... and I'm not completely sure you can say that this is just platonic or whatever. I am not just toeing the line here; I'm walking on the damn thing! The ice is so, so thin here, and I've never been a very good skater. I was wet all over but my throat was as dry as salt. I washed every last bubble out of her hair and ran my fingers through the tangled strands. Then Lizzie bent forward and grabbed the soap.

That's when I knew I was really in trouble. Liz ran the bar of soap over her skin, down her arms, across her chest, the column of her throat, leaving a trail of soapy bubbles behind. Before that, I'd never thought of just how intimate a bar of soap could be, but we _shared_ that bar of soap, Lizzie, Marti, myself, and sometimes Derek. The thought of sharing a bar of soap with with Marti and Derek kind of grossed me out, but the idea of sharing a bar of soap with Lizzie... Soap touches our most intimate, private areas, and I'd used that same soap just this morning.

Lizzie continued absentmindedly to run the soap down her stomach, even grabbing my hand and prying it away from her stomach for a moment to spread the suds across it. Then she was wet, naked, and slippery, and damn it if it wasn't killing me. She made quick work of the rest of her front, bending down to clean her calves and thighs. The bubbles either were quickly rinsed off by the spray or else slowly moved down her body. The thought of those bubbles and her right there in front of me, leaning the full extent of her weight against me, rendered me incapable of speech. Lizzie turned her head around, practically murmuring her request against my throat, "I can't reach... Can you do my back, Ed?"

That breath I drew in was a shaky, tinny one that rattled around in my chest. Could I do her back? Yes, of course. Should I do her back, for her sake and for my own mental health? No, of course not. But Lizzie's eyes were expectant, even impatient, and so I ignored what my mind was screaming and dragged the soap over the slopes of her shoulder blades, then skipping it delicately over the curve of her spine, paying special attention to each one of her vertebrae. I could see some of her bones as the skin rippled when she would move unexpectedly, and it served to remind me of just how fragile she really was. I smoothed the soap over the flat plains of her back on either side, tracing the pattern of her skin, stopping just before I reached her ass at the two little indentions at the base of her spine, the warning markers for me to go no further. I accidentally stroked her side, but Lizzie didn't seem to mind; in fact, she arched into it and practically...

Clearly, these are the kinds of thoughts I do not need to be thinking about. In the moment, though, it was all I could do to not act on those insistent hormonal impulses. I couldn't cast the images out of my mind like demons unless I had control, and my control was tenuous at best at the moment. Washing Lizzie's back for her was literally the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do. I knew that I would dream of this moment for days, weeks, months, maybe even years. Would I regret not... doing anything? No, because if I did do anything, I knew full well what my idiotic, misplaced lust would have ruined... and nothing between us would ever be the same again.

I was drenched to the bone, soaked clothes clinging, sticking to my skin, plastered to me like an unwanted second skin of fabric and moisture. I could probably wring out a bucket of water from these clothes, so I carried that extra weight with me. My jeans fell low on my hips, dragging on the bottom of the tub, and they felt stiff, cold, and beyond uncomfortable. They felt kind of crusty, too, as they were starting to dry, sticking in all the wrong places. Once I finally got out of the shower, I knew my clothes would leave puddles and make soft wet squishing noises in the hall. If Lizzie hadn't been in the shower with me, if it had been any other person in the world, I would've undressed already or at least pared down the clothing, but because it was Lizzie, and I didn't trust myself with her in anything less than all of my sopping wet clothes, I remained fully dressed.

The sensation that crept over me next was the coldness that permeated every layer of clothing. I was wet down to the skin, and the chill seemed to even seep beneath the skin. My skin was waterlogged and clammy, but the cold had spread inside of me, all the way down to my heart. I wasn't aware of the tight way I was standing, or the effort it took to keep me from shivering intensely, becoming a trembling, frozen mess. Being closer to the water, Lizzie got the water while it was still at least lukewarm. I got the water that ran off her that had already cooled by the time it hit my skin, and it still did nothing to curb my sexual appetites. Every single drop of that water pelted my skin and felt like liquid nitrogen. Finally, I snapped out of my trance and dropped the soap none too delicately.

Lizzie made a face. "What'd you do that for?" she asked a bit grumpily, bending down to pick up the slippery bar. I tightened my grip around her waist, and my hands unintentionally slipped a little lower in the progress. Drunk, Lizzie was less inhibited and shy about her body than she would've been otherwise, although Lizzie's used to changing and being naked around people, living in a family as large as ours and being on as many sports teams as she is. It's just awkward for her, being around a male in so little clothing, much less the absence of clothing completely. I've only seen her completely naked once, and that was for, like, a few seconds. I've seen her topless so few times I can count them on my fingers, including when we were fooling around, and it's always weird when we run into each other in the hallway when one of us is in their underwear or a towel.

Instead of reacting as she usually would, which would be either moving away from me or, more likely, slapping me, Lizzie let out a hearty burst of laughter and made a joke of it. "Careful, Edwin. Any lower, and you'll be at third base... and then you'd be in _trrrouble_," she cautioned jokingly, snickering and moving in my arms so she was hard to hold on to. She brushed against me, deliberately, almost teasingly this time. I pondered the meaning of her statement, which made my stomach tighten not quite pleasantly. I didn't ask her why because I thought I knew the answer, but she answered my unspoken question a minute later. "Because I'm so drrrunk and..." She made an indelicate snorting noise, sliding her fingers over mine, tightening my grip. I almost convulsed with the shock of the gesture. "And, God, I wannt a man, and I'd probably screw just about any guy who looked at me the right way right now..." she said in a breathy little voice. I hoped against hope that was an idle threat, that she hadn't been inviting me to do that to her.

Either way, I'd know soon enough. Drunk and Sleepy Liz isn't exactly subtle. "I can't get no satisfaction," she lamented, not sounding even half as tortured as I felt. Her statement hit me like mockery. My eyes shut reflexively, and my jaw tightened. Those words were not the words I needed to hear at that point. I didn't know how much more I could take, but I knew I couldn't withstand much more, and I had to get out of that damn bathroom before she broke me, broke down the chemical bonds binding me together as lethal and swift and irreparable as a black hole. Then Lizzie turned around in my arms, and I screwed my eyes shut so the way I was looking at her wouldn't convict me on the spot. I knew if I looked at her, if I saw the body pressed against mine, that I would lose it completely, seeing all of her bared to me and so, so, so close at hand. There would be almost no chance in hell that I wouldn't do something befitting of a Darwin Award.

Soft fingers, fingers that had previously been running all over her body and that damned soap, touched my lips, which fell open slightly instinctively. I didn't notice my lip was trembling until Lizzie told me so. "Edwin, your skin is as cold as ice. And, and look at the way you're shaking! If you stay like that much longer, you'll catch frostbite!" she exclaimed worriedly, sounding a bit more sober. I was too petrified to open my eyes and confirm her statement until she began tugging on my clothes insistently a moment later. "We've got to get you out of those wet clothes before you catch your death!"

Naturally, at that, my eyes shot wide open. I couldn't let her strip me. I fought the urge to roll my eyes because she sounded like Nora and had foolishly not first thought to turn off the freezing water. I forced myself to look past her, to not look at anything other than her face, and reached past her to turn off the shower. "No, Liz, you don't have to do that. I'm fine," I insisted curtly, taking her hands off of me. I knew I'd be unable to take her hands peeling away my clothes, sticky layer by sticky layer, and the flood of embarrassment that would inevitably overcome me when she finally realized that I'd had a hard-on that whole time. Then I practically leaped out of the tub, turning my back on her, and grabbed the first towel in sight, thrusting it towards her. "Cover yourself up, Liz," I practically barked, only turning around moments later when I was sure she was safely covered.

Well, not safely covered, I suppose, but at least sufficiently covered for me to not go completely mad. I took her hand to help her over the edge of the tub and steadied her balance when she slipped on the floor. She giggled a little, patting me on the cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Ed," she told me affectionately, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. The kiss actually landed half on my cheek and mostly on my ear, and it made me feel lightheaded. "It's just too bad I have no clothes in here. I can't just walk around naked in the hallway," she continued obliviously. I could barely look at her in that towel because, even then, with that thick towel there, I still remembered everything and was terrified I was going to attack her.

I thought of the slutty clothes on the floor, but I ultimately decided that it would be better for my sanity to see her in the towel, which covered more. Also, if she was wearing the slutty clothes, I would know that she wasn't wearing anything underneath (which would be so _hot_), and just the thought made my boxers chafe painfully. Those clothes had been revealing enough when she'd been wearing underwear, but if she put them on now, they'd be damp and all too easy to access. I bit my lip hard, but it didn't work like I wanted. Nothing was working out like I wanted it to tonight. "Just go to your room," I said a bit sharply.

Lizzie was giving me a doubtful look, though, so being her frustrating self, she didn't listen to me. As usual. She stayed and insisted on getting me out of those wet clothes, undoing the rest of the buttons to my shirt, tossing it on the floor, and then pulling my t-shirt over my head as if I had no choice in the matter whatsoever. She started pulling at my pants, bringing them down even though I clamped my hands down on hers to stop her. I gave her a steely look, tightening my grip. "Just leave it alone, Liz. I can get it from here," I practically growled, desperate to get her out of the room. She actually looked afraid of me as I threw her hands back at her.

Nevertheless, Lizzie's shoulders straightened and tightened. She is ever one to appear composed when she's scared of something. "Fine," she ground out irritably, annoyed with me. Frankly, I didn't give a damn because it meant that she was going to leave me alone. However, with Lizzie, nothing is ever quite that simple. Stumbling towards the door, somehow able to walk now, Liz turned around at the last minute and started to speak. "You need to warm up, though, bro... And you know body heat's the best way to do that," she reminded me kind of naggingly. Of course I know that. All Canadians know that because that's what you're supposed to do if you get caught in a snowstorm. It was a foreboding statement, too, because it meant I was in for a long night. "You're gonna come to bed with me, right?" she asked expectantly.

If that isn't a suggestive statement, I don't know what is. My throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, and I slowly shook my head, pointing out my lack of clothes, but Lizzie wouldn't take no as an answer. She sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Look, I need someone there because it's gonna storm tomorrow, and I'll never be able to sleep otherwise... Anyway, I've got some of your clothes in my room, so just come in once you're done..." she told me, looking suddenly very tired. Then she left, shutting the door and giving me my first privacy since I'd come down here... God, had it been just an hour ago? It felt like I'd passed a whole night in that room in exquisite torture.

As soon as Lizzie left, I locked the door behind her and let my wet pants drop to the floor, peeling my boxers away from my skin and kicking them off. I didn't care how messy the bathroom was or what the floor suggested, and I really didn't care what the hell my bitchy little sister was going to say about it in the morning (unless one of us cleaned it up), because, frankly, after enduring that and what was to come, I think I deserve a freaking award, and a big one. I stepped back in the shower, turning the cold water on full blast at its lowest setting. Yes, I am a masochist. I know this, but I needed something to camouflage the sound.

The water, even subzero as it was, didn't do anything to my raging erection. All I had to do was touch myself, barely wrap my hand around my penis, not even intentionally thinking of what had easily been the most surreal hour (and shower) of my life, and I came hot and hard, painfully hard. I had to grab on to the knob of the shower to keep from falling over, and my eyes rolled back in my head as waves of pain, pleasure, and relief crashed over me. I let out a loud groan that I hoped the shower and thundering skies masked, panting heavily. My legs buckled, and I almost sunk to my knees, feeling completely boneless, but I somehow managed to keep myself upright. It was easily the most intense orgasm I'd ever had, and I hadn't touched her, really, let alone fu—I can't finish that sentence. It seemed to go on forever and ever, surging, and I milked out every last drop of satisfaction I could get from it with endless jerk after stroke until I was limp and spent.

Then I pushed every last thought of her out of my mind, grateful for the refractory period, happy to feel normal again and not ruled by my sexual desires. My legs felt simultaneously weak and heavy, like my muscles had turned to jelly, twitching uncontrollably. Nevertheless, I didn't collapse quite like I wanted to; instead, I cleaned myself up hurriedly, feeling a surge of shame. It was far from the first time I'd ever jerked off in the shower, but it was the first time I had with Lizzie still very much in my mind and on my skin. The cold water felt almost soothing, and I accepted it, turning the water off and stepping out of the shower. I picked up a towel, using it first to dry off and then wrapping it around my waist. Then I walked almost as Lizzie had, half-stumbling and half-limping, to her bedroom.

Just as she'd said, there were clothes waiting for me in a neat pile on my side of the bed (the right side). Lizzie was in bed already, and I didn't know if she was asleep or not, but I didn't care. I turned my back to her and pulled the pair of boxers up under the towel, wondering both how and why she had a pair of my boxers in her room: mine, not Derek's. Did she sleep in them like some girls did, and if so, why steal a pair of boxers that her brother wears? I tried not to think about that and pulled on the heather gray sweats I'd relinquished to her about six months ago. I would've liked a shirt, but Lizzie didn't leave one for me, so a few moments later, I picked up the covers gingerly and slipped into bed beside her.

Her breathing was even and deep, wheezing a little, almost like she was snoring, meaning that she was blessedly unconscious. She shifted in her sleep, turning away from me, like she knew what I'd done in the shower. I sank into the mattress and pillow, pulling the covers up all the way over both of us. Her bed had always been so much more comfortable than mine, smelling like detergent and flowers, and I was instantly comfortable. I turned my back on Lizzie and closed my eyes. It felt like the end of something, but I didn't dwell on that long because soon afterwards, I'd fallen unconscious and was having the best sleep I'd had in weeks.

Loren ;*

Anyways, the next chapter is Edwin's birthday, which I decided will be divided into two chapters for convenience's sake and the fact that they kind of both have a different vibe, I guess. So that should be pretty fun, I think. You get to see Edwin's friends and a bit more of school and learn a bit more about Edwin. And Edwin gets into a kind of funk. Hm, and sadly I don't really describe Ed's friends much (because I don't suppose you'd describe your own friends), even though he describes Lizzie's friends and other people, although I'll try to incorporate details about them later. Edwin's not one to really linger on how someone looks, though, which is something you kind of see whenever he describes someone, except Lizzie. Otherwise, he spends very little time on it.

Oh, and if you're interested in this fic, you should also check out Lady Azura's Wagering Love. It's also set in high school, but with a totally different spin, and the plot revolves around this awesome bet... And there's a little brother too, only his name is Lex. And I'm a big fan, of course, and it inspires me (because, you know, it's pretty darn hard to find inspiration for Lizwin fics). And, as much as it pains me to admit it, she's totally a gazillion times better at the banter than I am. And even for all of you who wouldn't necessarily willingly seek out a Lizwin fic, just give it a chance, you know?

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'd really love it if you'd review! Thanks so much!


	12. Supersaturation

So, incidentally, it kind of bugs me that I don't know how to spell Sheldon's last name. Is it Schlepper or Shlepper? Like, they both kinda look right, and I've seen people use both. Venturian Candidate's credits say Shlepper, but that episode also lists all the McDonalds as MacDonalds, so I don't exactly trust its content. And then after that, they don't bill him with the last name, to my knowledge. So, augh. I try to be as accurate as possible, and yet...

Also, I think Edwin's birthday is actually supposed to be in March or April somewhere, but the show never says, so I stuck it in November for the sake of the plot. And because Canadians have Thanksgiving in October, nothing happens in November. So I think his birthday's somewhere in the teens, since I just invented it. Anyways, I figure Liz' birthday is probably in August, which makes her one of the youngest in her grade. And Casey and Marti's birthdays are basically totally random, although I guess Marti's birthday is probably in the summer. Whatevs. And even Derek's is random, but I just went with December 'cause most people do, and I already established that it was in December. Oh, also, the schools that Liz mentions are actual high schools in the Greater London Area.

Interestingly, the stories Edwin tells about his scar and Derek almost falling off the roof are actually based on things that really happened in my family, albeit loosely. My brother has almost fallen off of a roof, our stairs (he was hanging on to the banister but managed to pull himself back up, which is kind of what the Derek story's based on), and my Father actually did fall off a ladder while he was trimming trees or something, and he had a head wound! Lol, and being me I was quiet and kind of calmly not reacting much. But, seriously, I do have a scar from when my brother hit me with a hammer. The only difference is that my brother was up kind of on the roof of this one-story building that was, actually, kinda tall, and he was doing something with the hammer, and then a bee came and stung him, and so my brother practically flies down the little ladder on the side of the building that he had to jump up to, and he drops the hammer, of course, and I duck and jump out of the way to avoid being hit in the head, but the pointy part of the hammer, of course, gets my arm. So I have a little scar there now. Not that you care.

Though I own none of Ed or Lizzie's friends, since they've all technically been mentioned on the show, in a way, they're sort of mine to make into what I want. And, I mean, it's odd for me to really describe them, especially Ed's friends, because Ed's not in the habit of directly describing, say himself or his close friends in narration. Like, when he talks about himself it's because he's comparing himself to Derek, and when he talks about Lizzie, it's basically because he's lusting after her, and her goodies are pretty much in his face.

I also feel like I should say that obviously I don't own Flowers in the Attic. Nor have I read it/watched the movie. 'Cause, dude, I have a brother, and that'd creep me out. But actually, that story's not very realistic since there's this thing called the Westermarck Effect which basically means it's almost impossible for you to be attracted to your siblings if you were raised with them from the age of five or below. This is also true for nonrelated people raised together, such as children raised in kibbutzes, step and half-siblings (if both are young enough), and some people in shim pua arranged marriages (sorry if that's misspelled, but just look it up on Wikipedia 'cause I can't be bothered to explain that now). But Edwin will probably talk about that in detail later. Ironically, however, there's also the phenomenon of genetic sexual attraction, which is where a person may inadvertently be attracted to a relative if they first meet when both are grown because we are attracted to people with features similar to ours.

And, anyways, I don't own Life with Derek, most of the main characters, Godzilla movies, The Goon, When Harry Met Sally, Bend It Like Beckham, She's the Man, Mothra, Abercrombie, "Bad Reputation", Star Trek, or "Semi-Charmed Life", which is one of my favorite songs, or anything else you may have previously heard of that I forgot to mention. I do, however, own Sebastian, Vice-Principal Manilowski, Bangkok Garden, and to a certain extent, the friends.

* * *

**Supersaturation:** The state of a solution containing more of the solute than could be dissolved by the solvent under normal circumstances, resulting from a change in initial conditions, such as temperature or pressure. These types of solutions produce precipitates.

* * *

I have a very forgettable birthday. It's on a nondescript day in the middle of November, as opposed to Derek's pre-Christmas birthdate, Lizzie's August birthday (a week after Dad and Nora's anniversary), Marti's birthday (which is St. Patrick's Day, a holiday which the McDonalds naturally go all out for), Sebastian's June birthday, and Casey's very neurotic April birthday. My father forgets the day Derek was born, and he's the more memorable brother (not to mention his firstborn), not to mention that Derek's birthday is the same day Dad got the Prince. Lizzie told me once that she did a survey with Mom and Dad about how well they knew their kids, and Dad got my birthday wrong—both date and year, which is pathetic. That being said, I don't expect much on my birthday.

My father never remembers my birthday, and the rest of my family is generally too self-absorbed to care unless I make it an issue. I've learned not to make my birthday party an issue because at least Lizzie always remembers. I haven't had a birthday party on my own in years, but traditionally Lizzie and I throw a joint birthday party, usually in the early fall or the middle of spring. As a result of all of this, I'm generally in a bad mood on my birthday. Also, no one, least of all my father remembers this, but my mother walked out on our family pretty much the day before my birthday after a huge fight when Mom was offered this opportunity to study abroad. On my (sixth) birthday, she tells my dad she's thought it over and decides that she's going to take the opportunity because she doesn't think there's anything waiting for her back at home and that she wants a divorce. The ensuing depression completely destroyed any hopes of having a decent birthday.

I never go into my birthday with high expectations; I go into it hoping it'll suck a little less than the rest of the year. Anyway, I was more than a little surprised to wake up to Lizzie crawling into bed with me. The first sensation I had was of someone tugging at the covers and then easing under them, careful not to wake me up (but failing to do so). My body clung to sleep like the grave, but I couldn't quite get to sleep. My eyelids were as heavy as lead and sealed tight. Lizzie sidled over to me, snuggling up to my side. She was warm and soft, so I wrapped an arm around her and sleepily pulled her closer. On some level, I was completely aware that I was curling up with Lizzie (although, really, who else would sneak into my bed?), but I was still half-asleep and didn't properly register it.

For a while, there was a blissful silence in the room, and I was starting to drift off again. Then, of course, just as I was starting to slip into a deeper state of sleep, Lizzie's hands pressed against my chest softly. She murmured my name, pushing me and shaking me a little, repeating my name progressively louder and louder. I screwed my eyes shut, but I couldn't sleep, and it was worthless to pretend I could. I opened my eyes grudgingly and found myself alarmingly close to Lizzie's face, staring directly into her eyes. She smiled at me brightly, throwing her arms around me in an embrace too intensely physical for the morning. "Happy eighteenth birthday, Edwin!" she exclaimed in a much-appreciated whisper, squeezing me just a bit tighter.

As a rule, the bigger the birthday is, the bigger of a disaster it is. Lizzie pulled back a hair, loosening her grip on me only to lean forward and softly, sweetly, press her lips against mine. It was not what I needed that early in the morning, but damn if it didn't feel good. The one person who mattered had remembered my birthday, and that was really all that was important to me. Somehow I managed to pull myself away from Lizzie, albeit stiffly, and not without grabbing her ass to see how she would react. Lizzie just looked down at me and gave me a bit of a dirty look. "So, what are you doing in my bed? Come to give me my birthday present early?" I asked suggestively, wiggling my eyebrows at her. Lizzie snorted but then the expression on her face changed.

She bit her lip, shrugging. "Well, sort of." Then, of course, she turned away distractedly, leaning over the edge of the bed to do something or other. I was dumbfounded, and the wide eyes and open mouth reflected that. I grabbed her around the waist, trying to pull her to me, but she didn't really accommodate me. She turned around a minute later with a rather vexed look on her face, holding out a tray. "Here we are, breakfast in bed," she said with a bit of ironic cheer, thrusting the tray into my lap. The food on it was warm and appetizing-looking, and I appreciated the effort that must've gone into it. I have to admit that I had reservations about eating it; Lizzie wasn't particularly known as a good cook.

Bless her, though, she'd made all of my favorites: eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, milk, and French toast. "Thanks so much, Liz. This is the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a while," I told her sincerely. It was hard to remember the last time someone had done something so nice and unselfish for me, much less with the intention of making me happy. I tried the eggs first, but they were terribly runny. Nevertheless, I managed to finish at least half of them, motioning for Lizzie to eat with me, just so it could go away. Unfortunately the bacon, which Lizzie frequently decried as unhealthy and cruel (whereas I, on the other hand, find it supremely delicious), alternated between being raw and overcooked. It tasted like charcoal and the first hints of food poisoning.

The hashbrowns were stuck to my plate for the most part and not quite done as they were supposed to be, but at least what little I had tasted all right. I tried to wash my food down with the milk, but the aftertaste wouldn't quite go away. The French toast was burnt around the edges and got stuck in my throat, lodging there and almost choking me. It was sweet, and it might've been good if it wasn't so sticky and messy to eat. Then, just as I was trying to swallow a mouthful of milk to get the ball of bread in my throat down, Lizzie unintentionally knocked over my glass of milk, sending the cold liquid into my lap. Fortunately, spilling that on me got the tray off my lap, as Liz nearly threw it to the floor in her haste to dry me off. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ed. Here, let me take care of that," she said in a soft yet insistent voice. She dabbed her napkin on the puddles of milk, especially the ones in my lap. The insistent, repetitive pressure of that handkerchief dabbing and rubbing on the front of my pants was enough to get me aroused.

As if it wasn't already bad enough that I'm a teenager, and unfortunately this happens to me all the time, she just has to try and dry my lap off and get me all hot and bothered yet again. I pushed her away with all of the civility I could muster, letting out a sigh. Despite Lizzie's best efforts, my birthday was already off to a bad start. I sighed, keeping a pained smile on my face, quickly rising to my feet. "Tell you what... You just put the sheets in the wash, and I'm going to take a shower," I advised her, picking out some clothes to wear. Her face fell a little, but she set to stripping the bed, giving me a salute that I returned. Then, remembering what she'd done for me, I turned at the door and smiled a little less fakely and said, "Really, Liz... Thanks for breakfast. It was nice."

On some level, that wasn't a complete lie. I always like spending time with Lizzie, and the breakfast had been nice. However, it had tasted awful, and now I was horny, damp, and sticky (and none of which in a pleasurable way). Lizzie grinned back and let me go. I took a very cold, very short shower in response, scrubbing at the syrup on my skin. That damn French toast was so good and so sweet (seductively so), but so, so, so sticky. It reminded me of Lizzie, and how sometimes I felt like I was choking when I was around her too much. I toweled off and pulled on the majority of my clothes in the bathroom before heading upstairs, shirt in hand.

The room looked the same except Lizzie had changed the sheets on my bed. She was sitting in my bed comfortably, hands thrown behind her head. She gave me a casual onceover, leaning against the headboard. I noticed that her eyes lingered on my bare chest, and it made me uncomfortable because I was simultaneously flattered and alarmed. Wisely, I chose to ignore the way those eyes were burning into my bare flesh and sat down on the edge of my bed, turning to face her. "So, what's my _real_ present?" I asked playfully. Don't get me wrong; I like the snuggling and breakfast in bed just as much as the next guy, but they both turned out pretty disappointing for me. I would've liked to unwrap a little something (or a certain someone, rather) in bed, though...

Lizzie smiled mysteriously. "Well, since you're turning eighteen, I wanted to help make your birthday extra special, so... I got you eighteen presents," she told me, moving across the bed to me. I raised my eyebrows, both impressed and disbelieving. Something like that must've cost a fortune. She pulled the shirt out of my hand and replaced it with another one. I held the shirt up to inspect it; it wasn't something I owned, but I'd seen it before in the mall. I'd liked the shirt but never really thought it was something I could pull off. It seemed more like Derek's type of outfit, and I'm nowhere near cool enough to try and rock my brother's style. It was a long-sleeved bright green t-shirt with darker stripes at the bottom. There was a hopeful look in Lizzie's eyes as she watched me. "Do you like it?" she asked a bit hesitantly. "Because I can always take it back if you don't... I mean, the only reason I got it is because I know green's your favorite color, and um, I kinda saw you looking at it in the mall a couple weeks ago. And I figured it would look good on you... It is your size, isn't it?"

The way she said that melted my heart a little, so I couldn't say no to it. Besides, I had already liked the shirt, and Lizzie apparently knew me well enough to know both my favorite color and my size without me explicitly stating it. Here I thought I knew her better than she knew me. I wordlessly pulled Lizzie into a hug that lasted far too long and only ended when Lizzie pinched me. I gave her a look but couldn't bring myself to be annoyed with her for even a moment. I put on deodorant and then pulled the shirt over my head. Lizzie guided me to the mirror, eying our reflection (or, rather, mine) speculatively. Then her hands came up and smoothed out the wrinkles in the fabric over my shoulders and down my sides. She flashed me a smile in the mirror.

I noticed far too late that Lizzie was wearing one of those sexy nightgowns she'd no doubt bought for Derek's benefit. Still I couldn't lie and say I hadn't enjoyed her modeling them for me. It made me frown, prompting Lizzie to ask me what was wrong, and didn't I like it, and so forth. I managed a smile and told her, "Nothing's wrong, Liz... except that you aren't even close to being ready for school yet. You should go get dressed." I started to push her in the direction of the door, knowing full well I'd probably run into her in the bathroom later. She went somewhat unwillingly, insisting to me that there were more presents.

At first I didn't really believe it, but then I found a package of AA batteries in my backpack. They're never around when I need them (and you always do, because the remote, the Gameboy, the radio, and the CD player all take them). Something was scribbled on the cardboard on the back of the pack: _Be prepared; bring batteries._ It was a subtle reference to the Great Calculator Disaster of last year, where my batteries had failed during one of those aptitude tests, and I'd been forced to do all of the math in my head or on paper, wasting precious time. It could've easily been a coincidence, though, I reminded myself. However, a moment later, sitting on top of my notebook, I saw a slim, beaten-up volume of jokes. I slowly opened the cover to the book, since I didn't remember owning it or checking it out from the library.

There was a note scribbled inside on the cover page, which was something I would never have done.

_Hey Funny Man,_

_I noticed your jokes could use some updating, in honor of your eighteenth birthday, and I found this book in the discount bin and thought of you. No, seriously, though, Edwin, you don't really need it. You're one of the funniest guys I know, and you probably have the best sense of humor of anyone I've ever met. Few people take themselves as seriously as you do and still manage to be able to laugh at themselves (and you've never made it easy for someone to make fun of you, let me tell you, because you can do a better job of it than anyone else!). This book's jokes on families aren't even half as funny as the ones you just make up at the dinner table. Use and enjoy, bro._

_Love,_

_Lizzie XOXO_

The hits just keep on coming. If I was a crying person, Lizzie's words might've caused me to break down into tears. The thought and effort she'd put into my birthday was so astounding that it shamed all the presents I'd ever given her. It made me feel guilty too because lately I'd been resenting her, feeling like she took me for granted, and apparently she appreciated me and my strange qualities more than I'd ever known. Now I was convinced that the presents hadn't been a coincidence, and that she'd really gotten me eighteen presents. I glanced around my room for others, since she'd hidden those two in plain sight, but it took me a while to spot anything else.

I walked over to my desk, noticing a white piece of paper taped to my computer. I scanned its contents. It was a mail order with the estimated arrival date, tracking number, and current location of a package written on it. According to the attached sticky note, the contents of the package were some difficult-to-obtain (rather volatile) chemicals I'd been wanting to experiment with for a while. I'd told Lizzie about it when she was helping me brainstorm ideas for my Science Fair project. She'd said it was a good, interesting idea, but we'd both thought it would be rather difficult to attempt, given the difficulty of obtaining the chemicals and the precision required. Apparently Lizzie wanted me to challenge myself.

Next I went over to my couch to collect some of the books off of my couch which I would later need for school. Right there on the table, to my surprise, was a rare comic book encased in plastic. It was the first issue of The Goon, a graphic novel about a tough guy gangster superhero-type that touches on supernatural themes, such as ghouls, vampires, and mad scientists. You can see why I'd be into a comic book like this, can't you? For a moment, I just sat there and looked at it, appreciating the cover art, and then Lizzie came back in my room, towel-drying her hair. I held the comic book up questioningly.

Liz shrugged. "It is your favorite, isn't it?" I nodded, averting my eyes, noticing that she was clad in only a bra and a jean miniskirt. "I found it at a garage sale," she told me, bending over to wind the towel around her head like a turban. At my brief, skeptical look, she elaborated, "You just have to know where to go." Lizzie straightened up, brushing droplets of water off her arms. "Anyway, Birthday Boy, I think I'm going to go get ready, so I'll just take the breakfast tray downstairs and be on my way..." She walked over and picked up the tray, flashing me a smile and heading assuredly down the stairs.

After she left, I smacked myself in the forehead, embarrassed I hadn't been able to thank her like I wanted. I set the comic book back down on the table, glancing at my bookcase. There were a few new things on it. The first was a new video game I'd wanted for a while and had hinted to Lizzie that I wanted for my birthday. On the bottom shelf, with all the other movies, I noticed a rather thick, nondescript DVD that hadn't been there before. My brow furrowed as I reached down and picked it up. I turned it over to read the title when Lizzie came back into the room unexpectedly.

I just about had a heart-attack when she came in, but Lizzie just flashed me a chipper smile. "I remembered you saying how much you liked watching these movies as a kid when we were watching Mothra that one time, so I figured we could maybe pop some popcorn and watch them together sometime," Lizzie told me, touching the DVD. It was a set of Godzilla movies. She knows my fondness for crappy B-grade science-fiction films well, given that every time we have a movie night, I make her watch some god-awful creature feature. It's all right, though, because I have to sit through chick flicks and sports movies in return (or the rare combination of the two genres such as Bend It Like Beckham or She's the Man, which are two of Lizzie's favorite movies). Lizzie and I, however, had watched that movie over a year ago, late at night. I was surprised she'd remembered.

"Anyway, I just came up here to grab my lip-gloss... which, for some reason, is bizarrely in your room," she explained, walking past me and taking the lip-gloss off my bedside table. Then she whirled around and gave me a speculative yet playful glance. "Exploring your feminine side, eh, Edwin?" Lizzie joked, brandishing the lip-gloss. I wiggled my eyebrows at her somewhat lecherously.

Truthfully, the lip-gloss had been left in my room after that night she'd, well... basically come in here and attempted to seduce me. It was Lizzie's favorite lip-gloss, the thick, glossy kind, a deep pinkish-red, that she wore when she wanted to feel sexy. It was some good stuff, too, tasting like cherries and something else, something indescribably delicious, that made you go in for more. I rolled my eyes at her and reached for the lip-gloss playfully. "Well, can you blame me? It's pretty tasty," I asked, pulling the tube towards me.

Lizzie rolled her eyes at me, pulling the tube back towards herself, reminding me why it was wise to not pick a physical fight with Lizzie, who could kick my ass any day of the week. She batted her eyelashes at me. "So I'm delicious, huh?" she challenged, yanking back the tube of lip-gloss and giving me a look. I deliberately leaned in towards her, a trick I'd learned from Derek.

"Not delicious. Delectable," I told her in a rather creepy voice. Lizzie laughed and shoved me away from her, but I grabbed her around the waist and swung her around. She took in a sharp breath, stiffening in my arms, taken off guard by my impulsive gesture. Her hands clawed at my arms, but I didn't let go. I did, however, set her back down on the ground. I kept my arms around her, though, awkwardly pulling her closer to me. She stumbled a little bit and tried to push herself away from me so that she could stand upright. Upon regaining her balance, she glanced up at me, confusion written in her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her more tightly, hugging her closer. "Thanks, Lizzie, for doing all of this for me. You didn't have to do any of this, and you have no idea how much it means to me. I love you, you know that, right?" I breathed gratefully, with a sudden, pressing need to tell her how thankful I was, how I really felt. I punctuated my statement by pressing a kiss to her cheek, closer to her mouth than I should've.

She shrugged a bit shyly, pulling away from me, arms resting lightly on my shoulders. She looked down. "It's no big deal, really, Ed. It's the least I can do... You always go out of the way to make my birthdays extra special, so I just thought you deserved a little of the same treatment since your birthdays always suck. I just want to make you happy, you know? Because it's _your_ day," Lizzie told me warmly, brushing it off like it was nothing. My birthday-hardened heart softened just a little bit at Lizzie's sincere desire to make sure I had a happy birthday. Nevertheless, I gave her an expectant look, waiting for her to say something else.

For a moment, Lizzie just stared at me, puzzled by what I wanted from her, then understanding glowed on her face. "Anyways, you know I love you too, you big dork, so I don't get why I have to say it, and I don't know _why_ I love you, but I do," she murmured impishly, kissing one cheek and pinching the other like she thought I was adorable or something. I winced, drawing back and rubbing my cheek, because it hurt. Lizzie grinned at me kind of smugly. "And, just for the record, Ed, I am the best stepsister ever," she insisted.

I chuckled, realizing just then that my hands were resting on her waist, spanning her hips. I swallowed hard. "Trust me, I know," I told her, still smiling. Then, carefully, I removed my hands from her waist, turning away from her and exhaling briefly before turning back around again. "We should get going. Wouldn't want to be late to school, now would we?" I suggested, pushing her towards the door. Liz made a face at me but went ahead of me as I grabbed my backpack and followed her down the stairs.

On the way down, she complained about being hardly made up at all, but I swiftly countered by saying that she didn't need any make-up. Truth by told, she was wearing enough make-up, and it made her look immeasurably lovely from a purely qualitative standpoint. Her face was flushed pink and bright, her eyes glittered like waves, clear and tranquil. I smiled faintly at her, appreciating the moment, which, of course, was shattered the minute we set foot downstairs. Nora was running around like a chicken with her head cut off, making food for Sebastian and Marti and getting ready for work.

My dad was oblivious as usual, sifting through briefs at the table. I walked over to Dad, bending down and waving at him. "Hi, Dad." Dad made a noncommittal gesture that resembled a wave in response, but he didn't say a word. I sighed and sat down next to him at the table, drumming my fingers on the wood. "So, Dad, don't you have anything to say to me?" I persisted, determined to at least try to get him to remember.

Dad glanced up with a puzzled look on his face. He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Edwin... I'm really busy right now, actually. Don't have much time to talk. I'm preparing for this big case," Dad said quickly, distractedly, clearly searching for what he thought was the right answer. Just like that, his eyes went right back to the papers he'd been studying. I rolled my eyes. I don't know why I'm so surprised. He does this to me every year, and there's always some stupid excuse attached. Like, "Oh, I'm sorry, Edwin... I've just been swamped by this really big case... I'll make it up to you later, I promise." Or "Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Ed. I've just been really busy. I've had to do a lot of things lately." If I don't get some excuse like that, he's trying to argue that my birthday's in some other month or sounding surprised or making me more promises that I know he's only going to break when "something else comes up."

As absent as she may be, at least my mother remembers to send me a present (and a card), albeit usually a really lame, useless one. Nevertheless, I pressed on stubbornly. "Dad, what day is it?" I asked pointedly, patience growing thin. I glanced over at Lizzie, who was busy helping Nora. Marti was in a snit, freaking out over something, but no one was listening to her. Sebastian, on the other hand, was oddly subdued, even looking a bit green. He'd had a fever last night, but it was only now that he seemed sapped of energy.

Dad looked thoughtful for a minute, and for that brief moment, I actually dared to hope he'd remember. It was a foolish dream to hope that my father might remember the day of my birth, but really, you'd think he'd remember the day his first wife decided to divorce him. In a way, I can't really blame either of them for that because things were bad between them for a long, long time. We all have our idiosyncrasies, and God knows my family has more than most, and that makes us even harder to accept and put up with, so I can kind of understand why my mother left my dad. As much as I resent my dad for the mistakes he's made, at least he was here when it mattered. "Um, Wednesday?" Dad remarked dimly.

For a moment, I just stared at him in sheer disbelief. Not only did he not know it was my birthday, but he also didn't even know what day it was. I'm aware my dad's not exactly a spring chicken, but sometimes I seriously worry about his mental state. Since he didn't even know what day it really was, I couldn't really find it in my heart to be mad at him like I wanted to be. I sighed, getting up from the table and patting my dad on the shoulder pityingly. "You're off by two days, George," I told him a bit sadly, heading over to the counter where Nora was busily cutting up bananas for Sebastian.

I wordlessly stood next to her, and, upon realizing that she'd forgotten to peal the banana in her haste, I started pulling pieces of skin off of the banana chunks in the bowl. "He's sick," Nora informed me, jerking her head in C's direction. I nodded, and Nora continued. "A client's coming over at eight for a consultation, so I'm going to take him to see the doctor's at lunch. He's got a fever, and he's thrown up most of meals..." Here Nora sighed, putting the last bits of the banana in the bowl and turning to wash her hands in the sink. "Edwin, I'm sorry I'm putting all this on you..." I just shrugged, used to it. My little brother's sick. It's understandable.

I turned around, throwing the pieces of banana peel in the trash and setting the bowl in front of Sebastian hesitantly. C looked at it, poking a banana and frowning like he felt queasy. He then looked up at me and smiled widely. "I'm not feelin' weally good, Eddie... but I-I-I drew this pitcher for you. 'Cause it's your birfday, right? An' I jus' hope you like it," Sebastian said solemnly, picking up a piece of paper and pushing it across the counter to me. I peered down at the picture. It was a crayon drawing of me standing by a table, blowing out candles. There were a couple stick figures around me, a tall one with messy hair I assumed was Derek, a girl with long brown hair who was probably Lizzie, and then a small figure that was doubtlessly Sebastian. I smiled at it, fingering the people and reaching over to smooth Sebastian's hair.

"I _love_ it, C. In fact, I'm going to put it up on the fridge so that when I get home, I can put it up in my room!" I told Sebastian enthusiastically, picking up the picture and hugging him carefully. I would've taken the picture upstairs, but I didn't quite have the time. It meant a lot to me that my little brother remembered my birthday. So far he's the only family member outside of Lizzie who's given me a present at all, and it is true what they say about gifts meaning more when they come from the heart. C beamed back at me as best as he could, being feverish and nauseous. I walked over to the fridge, moving the magnets around so that the picture would stay on the refrigerator and whirling around to smile at him.

Nora turned around, grabbing my arm as she dried her hands on a dishtowel. Her face was a perfect picture of apology, eyes sympathetic, lips turned down at the corners, harriedness seeming permanently etched into her wrinkles. She remembered. She leaned in towards me a little bit. "Edwin, honey, I'm _so_ sorry about your birthday. And George... he means well, he just..." Nora trailed off, wringing her free hand, because she couldn't really finish that sentence. But I could: "always forgets." She looked down at the linoleum, clearly ashamed. "And I'm really sorry, but I haven't bought your present yet. It's just, things are a little tight this month, and so many things have been going on, and I know none of that's really an excuse... but I-we'll make it up to you. Later on. I-I promise," Nora told me, guilt and worry in her eyes.

Times like these made me remember why I loved Nora more than my biological mother. It had been so long since my mother was present that I had trouble remembering what she'd been like when I was little. Nora was the only mother I'd ever really known, and she tried to treat me just as well as she'd treat the others. It pained me to cause her any more stress because I knew she and my father already had so many things on their plates. I didn't want to be that one more thing that sent her over the edge a little. The McDonald's, particularly Nora, are the glue that keeps this family together. I just smiled at her, albeit a little sadly, and wrapped my arms around her warmly. "Really, Mom, it's fine," I told her, even though it wasn't really.

We stayed like that for a few moments, and when I pulled away, Nora was crying a little. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, sucking in a breath and giving me a watery smile. Then she turned her attention to Dad, who was scrambling out the door, just in time to give him a goodbye peck. It was only then that I noticed Marti, who was on the verge of hysteria. "I think I like girls, Lizzie!" Marti exclaimed anxiously, practically hyperventilating. I thought, rather unpleasantly, that perhaps she'd spent too much time with Casey in Toronto last weekend, and then I smacked myself in the face. Of course Marti would choose today, of all days, to have some narcissistic mental breakdown that would ultimately amount to nothing. Like they always do. Last week she was throwing a fit because she thought her friend Justin was cute, and she felt like she was cheating on Morgan, and was she an emotional adulteress? The week before that, she was whining about a perceived slight by her best friend, Naomi, and how they'd never be even good friends again, and maybe Naomi hated her. That girl, I swear, blows everything out of proportion.

Lizzie was trying to calm my poor, slightly deranged sister down, trying to grab her hands and asking questions, attempting to be helpful. Marti doesn't appreciate helpful, though. She just wants someone to listen, not someone who'll actually try to solve her problems. Someone attempting to solve her problems means that she can't go on pretending that her problems are real. She just wants to whine, really.

Here, allow me to paraphrase what Lizzie said: What makes you think that, Marti? Is there any girl in particular whom you feel attracted to? Has any girl shown a romantic interest in you? Do you still like boys? Does Morgan know about this? Are you going to break up with him? When did you decide this? Why are you just freaking out about it now? Then come the calming, soothing words to cool her down... There's nothing wrong with being homosexual, Marti. And, Marti, if it turns out that you're bisexual or, um, a lesbian, you know that we'll all still love you, right? It won't change how we feel about you. But Marti, honey, I think you need to give this a bit more thought... Why don't you just think about it some more?

Marti was practically in tears, and it was so painfully obvious to me that she wasn't a lesbian that I wanted to smack her upside the head. I sighed, and Lizzie tried to talk her down to the best of her ability. "Marti, I think you might be overreacting. I mean, just because you were dared to kiss a girl at a party, and it was nice... that doesn't mean that you like girls. First of all, if you liked girls, Marti, you'd want to kiss them regardless. Someone wouldn't have to dare you to do it. Secondly, it _is_ possible to kiss people and enjoy it if you aren't attracted to that person. Besides, Marti, sexuality is an immensely complicated subject, so even if you were attracted to this girl, that doesn't necessarily mean you're a full-blown lesbian. Also, if you were attracted to women, you probably would've always had some feeling, something that might've tipped you off," Lizzie said calmly, rubbing Marti's back.

Then I registered just what Lizzie had said. My sister had been dared to kiss a girl at a party? Honestly, what kind of parties do middle-schoolers go to nowadays?! When I was her age, I hadn't even been to my first boy-girl (make-out) party, and I was _lucky_ to get a kiss on the cheek from a girl! Her generation is rather... sexually precocious, aren't they? As horrified as that made me, what Lizzie said made a lot of sense, and I appreciated that she was able to keep such a level head about it and advise her so well. Derek and I freak out enough about her in relationships and doing things she probably shouldn't, and, frankly, I can't quite decide which of us would've freaked out more. "But, Marti, this is something you have to figure out for yourself on your own... and ultimately it just comes down to who you want to be with," she cautioned. Lizzie refrained from pointing out that this person was not, despite all her best attempts and appearances, her boyfriend.

At this point, Marti got that mischievous glint in her eye of which I've long been wary. "Well, Lizzie, who do _you_ want to be with?" she asked in a syrupy tone, trying to pull off wide-eyed, naïve, and curious. I wasn't fooled because even as she asked Lizzie the question, her flashing eyes locked with mine. The expression on her face had a smugness to it, an eagerness to know as she leaned in towards Lizzie, who blinked, mouth half-open, contemplating just how to answer that question.

Obviously Lizzie couldn't tell Marti the truth. The awkwardness of the moment, or, namely, of the sly, almost vindictive way Marti was looking at me, made my skin prickle. I cleared my throat abruptly, hating how my voice sounded hoarse and broken. "Lizzie, we should _really_ get going. School awaits," I stressed, reaching across the counter to grab her wrist. Liz looked torn between the two of us, her little sister or her brother, but I was more accustomed to working for Lizzie's attention (and had her guilt on my side, since it was my birthday), so I won out in the end. I pulled her out of the door almost roughly, trying to ignore my little sister's accusing stare that said I had _stolen_ Lizzie from her. Because that's just ridiculous. How could I steal someone from her who wasn't even hers to begin with?

Whatever, okay? All I have is this one day a year, and I deserve at least that. Even if Lizzie and Nora are the only ones who remember, and none of my own blood do. Marti can go have her little sexual orientation crisis later, but, damn it, it's _my_ birthday, and I'm not about to **share** my best friend! Marti can go be a selfish brat any other day of the year, but why does she have to pick my birthday to have these dilemmas?

Lizzie still looked like she had misgivings about leaving Marti to fend for herself, but I thought it was about time that my sister grew up and started figuring out her own problems for a change. As we got into the car, Lizzie seated herself on the passenger's side of the car and started applying the lip-gloss with the help of one of the various mirrors. I was pulling out and watching her paint the lip-gloss on at the same time, and, as a result, almost wound up crashing the Prince into the Davis' car. Lizzie shot me a reproachful look, and I tore my eyes away from her glossy, luscious lips to focus on the road.

Fortunately for my sanity, she was done within moments, and I felt a breath leave me in a whoosh. Lizzie turned on the radio station. We carried on a bit of a conversation, but Lizzie knows I don't particularly like to talk when I'm driving. I have this thing about outside distractions, so just listening to music is kind of a big step for me. It's all because I got in this fender-bender right after I first started driving. As a result, I drive even slower than I did before for security purposes. Glancing around, I notice that there was a new, lemon-scented air freshener and a pair of black fuzzy dice looped around the mirror. I looked over at Lizzie, figuring it was yet another present, but she was too busy singing in her own world to meet my gaze.

When we started driving the Prince, I'd insisted that we get a pair of black fuzzy dice, but Lizzie had always refused, saying it was in bad taste. She'd won the argument, as per usual, but I'd never quite given up on my fuzzy dice dream. The air freshener was simply because we needed a new one, as we were both complaining about the smell, and that was one of the few scents that didn't overwhelm my nose and make my head swim. There was a little Post-It attached to the air freshener, and I peeled it off at a stoplight. Lizzie was blaring out a song, "_I don't give a __**damn**__ about my reputation. I've never been afraid of any deviation. And I don't really care if you think I'm strange... I ain't gonna __**change**__! And I'm never gonna care 'bout my bad reputation!_"

_Dreams really do come true, Edwin_, it read. It sounded like something you'd get out of a Disney Channel movie. I smothered a chuckle, glancing at Lizzie, who was still immersed in the song and turned my eyes back to the road, folding the piece of paper and putting it in my pocket. I fingered one of the fuzzy dice, flicking it with the tip of my right index finger. It was softer than I'd anticipated. Before I knew it, we were at school, parking, and heading out of the car. We walked together, which was unusual, as normally we would split up and go to our separate groups of friends. Today, however, we walked in a companionable silence until I reached the periphery of my friends.

Lizzie and I both froze in the same place, standing close to each other, staring with wide eyes. Oddly enough, it felt exactly like that moment at the end of a date where you've walked the girl to her doorstep, and the both of you are awkwardly standing there, waiting to figure out what to do and unsure whether or not you're going to kiss after all. We both stood there, stock still, in that same way, uncertain, hesitant. Every particle in me was screaming at just how peculiar it all felt, but I couldn't seem to break myself from the strange trance. Ordinarily she might've waved or, more likely, kissed me on the cheek, but the copious amount of lip-gloss she was wearing seemed to preclude the last option, and the first option was terribly impersonal for a day in which she wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere.

Then it hit me, what this moment was. It was like I'd broken a snow globe (and there is something very tragic and heartbreaking about smashing it, cracking open an innocent snow globe like that, isn't there, and watching the sad little flakes of snow, glitter, and liquid seep out all over the floor and broken glass?). Before it had just been the two of us and no one else, and now, at school, we were forced to break up, separate, and share each other with the rest of the world. It wasn't just Lizzie and me anymore in our own little private world like it had been all morning. That was why it was awkward, and if I was being really honest with myself, I could admit that I missed that, it just being her and me, partners in crime, us against the world.

Liz kind of licked her lips awkwardly. I remembered with a pang just how delicious her lip-gloss was and had a sudden, profound craving for cherries. I bit my lip hard, but it didn't deter my desire or the impure thoughts swirling in my head. "Well, ordinarily, I'd kiss you, but I'm kind of wearing all this gloopy lip-gloss, so I _guess_ I'll let you off easy this time... But I'm **so** gonna make up for it with birthday spankings later!" Lizzie rambled, gesturing to her lips. There was a wily look in her eyes that told me she was completely serious, and an involuntary shudder swept over me. It was not the good kind but the kind of shiver born of genuine fear. Liz noticed and grinned a bit evilly, squeezing my shoulder, starting to move away from me. "Anyway, I'll see you at lunch, okay? I'm taking you out, so think about where you wanna go, okay?" Lizzie informed me, flashing me a smile and walking backwards while still making eye-contact with me for an impressive amount of time.

My lips curved upward despite themselves, and I watched her go with amusement before turning around to face my friends. My friends had odd looks on their faces, with half of them looking amused and the other half looking a bit exasperated. I blinked at them but kind of knew what was coming. "So, birthday spankings, huh? Sounds kinda kinky, Ed. I didn't know you and your hot stepsister were into freaky things like that," Jimmy drawled, raising his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes at him. To sum Jimmy up in two words, he's a dork and a horndog, and I generally wind up playing his wingman. I guess you could say that Jimmy Luefer has a thing for Lizzie. She's flirted with him in the past, but nothing ever came of it, and I think he was a bit disappointed by that. He glanced in the direction in which Lizzie had left somewhat wistfully. "Honestly, I don't know how you can live with her and not want to tap that..."

That time I scowled at him, immediately silencing him. Though all of my friends were attracted to Lizzie and several of them had dated her, there was a very thin line of acceptable comments about her in my presence. I don't appreciate anyone referring to my sister and best friend that way. Jeremy sighed, shaking his head. He's one of my more mature friends, and he has a very calming presence. He was silently reminding all of them about the rule about talking about my sisters. Dan spoke next. As my oldest friend, he has a greater freedom of speech than the others do, so he'll tell me exactly what he thinks. "You know, Ed, in a way I've got to agree with Jimmy here... I mean, the way you were talking, you're not going to seriously tell me that you talk to Marti that way too?" he pointed out.

My face colored a bit, and I shook my head slowly. Dan is one of very few friends who knew me before the McDonalds came into my life, and he's one of an even smaller number who remember what I was like back then. He won't let me get away with anything. I was used to my friends giving me a hard time about Lizzie, but it annoyed me that they picked my birthday to have what I had an inkling would be a serious conversation about our relationship. Admittedly, this subject's been coming up a lot more lately, and there are times when I honestly don't know what to tell them. There is a point, you know, where I just tell them what they need to hear to get off my back. "Of course not. Marti's not my best friend. She's my twerpy, overdramatic little sister who dresses like a slut half the time," I told him coolly. Dan rolled his eyes and gave me a look that said he didn't quite buy it, but Dan knew better than to tell me things I didn't want to hear.

Serge looked around, crossing his arms over his chest, and, when no one spoke, he did. "Edwin, don't you ever think it's weird that you have a girl best friend?" he questioned. I frowned at him, and Serge continued. "I have never had a girl friend who didn't eventually become a friend with benefits or a real girlfriend... And you and Lizzie are so very close..." he continued in a low, lightly-accented drawl. I raised an eyebrow at him, unable to believe he was implying anything remotely like that. Serge pursed his lips, not quite comfortable with the silence, and kept talking. "I'm just... not sure women and men can be friends. Because if you don't want to sleep with her, then she wants something more from you," he postulated, hinting at something I didn't want to deign to consider.

I rolled my eyes, walking over to my locker. Well, Serge, did you ever think that maybe I'm not an unapologetic womanizer like you? "First off, way to reduce every beautiful friendship to sex... Secondly, I swear to God you stole that from When Harry Met Sally... and despite the fact that that movie itself sort of proves the theory, you can be friends with girls without wanting to have sex with them. Like Casey or Emily or Kendra or Lizzie..." I told them archly, citing personal examples.

Dan cut in here while I was putting my books into my locker. "Well, two of those are your stepsisters, and the other ones are your brother's ex-girlfriends. Besides, none of them are particularly good friends of yours. I mean, come on, do you really have any close female friends outside of Lizzie?" Dan interjected. He did have a point. I didn't have any really close female friends outside of Lizzie. He had me there. Still, I don't _need _any other female friends when I have Lizzie. She's more than enough.

"When Harry Met Sally, eh? Did you watch that with Lizzie?" Jimmy asked, latching on to this point. I nodded, continuing to do things in my unadorned locker. Jimmy snorted, adjusting the brim of his hat, and I gave him a questioning look. "You know, for a guy who's not actually dating, you sure are whipped," he added, accompanying his words with the sound effect. Thanks, Jimmy. Sometimes I really forget why I hang around with this loser. I froze and turned to look at him, wondering just what, exactly, he meant by that. Jimmy gave me a look, tilting his head to one side. "Come on, Ed... You couldn't say no to Lizzie if you tried. You do everything that girl asks you to do," he said bluntly.

I started laughing hysterically because, of course, he had no idea that I was very good at saying no to Lizzie if it involved matters of my dignity or morality. Then again, he'd probably freak out if I told him I rejected Lizzie when I could've slept with her. On the other hand, it was true for most things, but still, I don't do everything she asks me to do. I shrugged. "There are limits, Jim. Besides, it's a reciprocal thing. I watch crappy chick flicks and soccer movies with her, and she goes to see sci-fi and action movies with me," I told him, taking out my books for my first class and finding a pencil.

Turning around, I came face to face with a skeptical Zach, who was leaning against the locker next to mine. He exhaled a bit heavily, absently running his fingers through the flippy dirty-blond locks that qualified him to be an Abercrombie model. At that particular moment, a gaggle of Freshmen girls walked by, goggling him and giggling loudly, no doubt talking about him. The girls around here say that Zach looks like Leonardo DiCaprio, and that he's cool like James Dean, and they all stare, but Zach Burton remains untouchable. Predictably, Zach didn't notice the group of girls trying to get his attention, focusing instead on me. "Okay, fine, Edwin... I'm going to tell you this because apparently everyone else is edging around the elephant in the room..." I gave him an expectant look right back, waiting for him to spit it out. As usual, Zach didn't disappoint. "Seriously, are you **sure** Lizzie's not your girlfriend?" he blurted out.

Jimmy nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with Zach. Jim's an okay guy, a bit eager, and nice enough, but he tries too hard. "You know, you can tell us if she is... We won't judge. She is, like, _the_ hottest girl in school," Jimmy added almost dreamily. He said it quickly and supportively, nodding excitedly. I didn't fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. You might not judge, Jimmy, but she's not _your _sister, and I do. I'd hate myself because, well, it's just disgusting! I already feel like enough of a dick for lusting after my sister. I mean, I grew up with her, and I've seen her at her worst, like when she got her period for the first time in seventh grade, and I was the one who had to go buy her sanitary napkins, despite Lizzie having an older sister and a mother, or when she had the ferret flu in Year 10 (hot mess, but more mess than hot).

Nevertheless, that wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting. I'd expected the general undertone, sure, but I hadn't anticipated him to say it like _that_, so bluntly and tactlessly and... So, for a long, long moment, all I could do was gape at him. I motioned for him to explain because the concept of Lizzie being my girlfriend really was _that_ unbelievable to me. It didn't compute, period, like an inverse that doesn't exist or certain intercepts of lines. "We all saw you two earlier... You two sure act like you're an item, and if you were, I'm sure you'd be one of those sickeningly in-sync couples... I mean, you both stop dating at the same time, live in the same house, spend so much time together... Her boyfriends are jealous of you, and your girlfriends all secretly hate her... And **no one** knows you better than Lizzie and vice-versa. You've got this unshakable bond. And think about it, Ed, you act like a jealous boyfriend whenever she starts dating anyone!" Zach illustrated, urging me to see his way.

Tact has never exactly been Zach's strong point, but I was kind of surprised when he didn't even imply a sexual attraction to Lizzie on my part. In some ways it was worse, what he was implying, because he was basically saying that I had deep romantic feelings for Lizzie. If, he was saying, I wasn't Lizzie's boyfriend, I as good as wanted to be. The thought made me kind of sick to my stomach, but that just as well could've been Lizzie's cooking. I shook my head slowly, brushing it off like beads of water, but there was still this electrifying idea in my head (and ominous churning in my stomach) that absolutely horrified me. "I'm _absolutely _positive that Lizzie's not my girlfriend," I managed very calmly. The more my friends talked about this, the more angry I was becoming. "I'd know if she was," I said dryly, giving them all a look.

Dan shot me a dirty look. "Really? 'Cause it sounds like she's taking you out on a lunch date," Dan interrupted pointedly. He was kind of right, since Lizzie was, after all, taking me out for lunch, but he failed to recognize that going to lunch with someone is not always a romantic gesture. Lizzie goes out to lunch with her dad once or twice a month, for instance. In fact, lunch "dates" aren't really romantic at all. If a girl asks you to lunch with her, it means she probably wants to talk to you about something. Lunch dates are for friends or if she wants to establish some form of neutral meeting place where she has all the power.

I scowled at him, annoyed at how they were all ganging up on me and reading everything wrong. "She's taking me out to lunch because it's my birthday, you tools," I rejoined over my shoulder, turning back to my locker to discover a large box sitting on the top shelf of my locker. My brow furrowed as I reached in and pulled it out slowly. It was a super-deluxe magic kit (with a large red bow on it), I noticed dully, and there was a note taped to the front. My face lit up in a smile as I slowly removed the note.

_To Edweirdo the Magnificent,_

_I seem to remember your childhood infatuation with magic. Remember in sixth grade when you were obsessed with that magic kit George got you for Christmas, and you'd always make me sit there and watch you practice? I remember when you asked me to be your "lovely assistant", or, rather, told me I was going to be your "lovely assistant." I honestly had no idea what I was getting into... but apparently it turned out to be a purple sequined dress, red feather boa, and some odd headdress made of feathers, spare fabric from the basement, and Casey's bra. Oh, and remember the magic show we put on together for the family at the end of the summer? How could you forget?! You almost __**killed**__ me. I didn't sign up for it knowing you were going to try and saw me in half! That being said, I forgave you for that a long time ago._

_But I remember how sad you were when you "lost" the pieces (Derek's treachery, I'm afraid, though the whole family kind of teamed up against you), and how doing magic lit up your whole face because you really loved it that much. So here's a brand spanking new magic set. I even took the liberty of adding a few pieces of my own, so I hope you enjoy it. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, you actually were a good magician and can still do all these awesome tricks at parties, and it made you happy. You may never put on a show again, but here's hoping you rediscover that childlike enthusiasm. If anyone needs to loosen up, it's you._

_Love,_

_Your Lovely Assistant,_

_Liz XOXO_

I was still smiling faintly when I finished it, but I did feel just a tiny bit insulted. She was right, though. I am a ridiculously uptight person, and I do need to loosen up. Thinking about my days as a magician, I remembered with a grimace when I'd impulsively decided to try and cut her apart. Being me, my stunt, um, malfunctioned, and Lizzie had to go to the emergency room and get at least forty stitches in her stomach. Turns out the saw went farther in the box than I'd intended, and I'd stopped when Lizzie screamed, realizing she was bleeding and in pain. My twelve-year-old fingers fumbled with the locks, hastening to throw open the box. When I finally did, I saw the blood pooling on her midsection, liberally sprinkled with flecks of sawdust, and the long, thin line stretching from hipbone to hipbone, just above her waist. I felt sick (with shame and guilt and regret and fear) knowing I'd literally cut her open, hurt her like that. It was only at the hospital when Liz was seeing the doctor that I allowed myself to go into the bathroom and void my stomach. The cut wasn't quite deep, but it wasn't exactly shallow either, and the incident had forever scarred the both of us (literally, in Liz' case) and ended my career as a magician forever.

There was a thin, almost invisible white line there now, just above her hips. Right after it happened, Lizzie made wisecracks about it all the time, but when she realized that the jokes hurt, she stopped, and now it was almost forgotten. If you can ever forget something like that, and, trust me, you can't. She had the best attitude about it right away, wasn't even that mad at me. She'd commented that at least it was cooler than the scar I had on my arm from when Derek dropped a hammer on me. He'd been repairing the roof so that Dad wouldn't ruin the whole thing, resulting in us needing a new roof, and the skylight in my room had been open. I'd been standing right underneath it, handing tools to Derek, when all of the sudden Derek slips, practically drops his hammer on my head, and almost fell off the roof and died. He was literally hanging on to the gutter and the drainpipe, and I barely had time to duck, narrowly avoiding blunt force trauma to the head, and register the pain before I was running off to get Casey to get a ladder so Derek wouldn't plummet to his death.

Anyway, my friends looked a bit chagrined at this, having forgotten to mention my birthday at all in this conversation. Had they actually forgotten, or was there a reason they hadn't mentioned it? Serge sighed, throwing his hands in the air. "Yes, yes, we know it's your birthday... You know I'm not one to judge, Edwin, but that _still _doesn't explain the way you two were looking at each other," Serge interjected, giving me a knowing look. He paused for a moment, stroking that idiotic goatee of his. I don't know who he thinks he is growing that thing since he can hardly grow facial hair and hockey finals are months and months away. His eyes seemed to bore directly into me. "Were you seriously going to kiss her?" he asked disbelievingly, lowering his voice so as to not publicly embarrass me, as the tip of his thumb brushed against his bottom lip.

The words made me start a little because they hit too close to home, and I'd been there, done that. For a moment, I was completely speechless. I knew I wasn't going to kiss her, but it was insulting that he had to ask me, that he actually thought I would. He said he wasn't the type to judge, and he's a guy with a lot of issues of his own, but the incredulity and hint of disgust in his voice negated his statement. I set the note on top of the magic kit and coolly pushed it back into my locker, smile long gone, and turned to face Serge. "No, of course not," I told him primly. I forced a smile, continuing in a voice that was half facetious and half factual, "She's wearing this heavy lip-gloss. It would've been real messy."

I slammed my locker shut dramatically, collecting my books from the top of the locker and turning to face them. I tried not to think with a pang about just how good that lip-gloss tasted, and how it probably wasn't just Lizzie's favorite lip-gloss. The guys, well, most of them, at any rate, were gaping at me, and I smirked, pleased to be able to unnerve them for a change. Dan, who was the only one who knew I'd kissed Lizzie in the past, was the first to recover. "Really, so her _lip-gloss_ is all that stopped you from making out with her back there?" he questioned a bit sharply. Jimmy nodded like that made sense to him, and I suppose that would make sense to him. I tensed up in anticipation of the sister comment that was sure to follow, but Dan just looked at me, eyebrows raised. He didn't need to say a damn word, all right. It was written on his face instead.

"No, dumbass, she's my _sister_," I spat, feeling like an instable compound. I didn't feel like the kind that degraded and warped other molecules slowly. I felt like the kind with a nucleus that wanted nothing more than to burst apart and was being held together by the miracle of science for no more than a couple seconds. I glowered at Dan, who thought he knew everything. "Why the hell would I want to make out with my _sister_ in the hallway? As if it's not bad enough that the whole school thinks I'm sleeping with her? No, _Dan_, I didn't kiss her because, you know, she's my **sister**, and maybe I don't want to kiss her. Or date her. Or have sex with her. **Gee**, did you ever think of that?" I retorted testily, starting to walk away from them.

Who would've thought my good mood could fade so easily. Jeremy gave Dan a dirty look and walked after me, pulling me back to them. "Look, Edwin, I'm sorry we're giving you the second degree about this. We, uh, do this a lot, don't we?" Zach said apologetically, biting his lip and looking a bit apprehensive. I looked at Dan, who didn't bother to apologize because, as the best friend, he didn't have to. I smiled thinly at Zach and nodded curtly.

"I mean, come on, Ed. You two even _match_," Serge said, sounding exasperated. I hadn't realized it earlier, but he was right about that too. Lizzie had, surprisingly enough, taken my advice to heart about clothes. She'd worn a flattering long-sleeved shirt in emerald green with a deep scooped neck that revealed a vast expanse of soft, creamy cleavage. Fortunately, I hadn't told her that her legs were her finest asset, so she was safely clad in a pair of dark wash jeans and flats. It made me wonder if there was a particular guy at school she was trying to seduce, what with the sexy lipstick and tight, bright green shirt.

I didn't have anything to say to that particular complaint because it seemed to me rather a coincidence. Jeremy spoke next. He was biting his lip, so he'd had something to say for a while. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and measured, perfectly calm and nonjudgmental. There was a hint of apology in his eyes. He sighed deeply. "Edwin, hell, Lizzie does more for you than any girlfriend... or friend, for that matter... would," he said quietly, somewhat awe-stricken. And don't I know it, but I've done more for her than any boyfriend, brother, or best friend ever would, probably. "And I would know," Jeremy said, as he's the only one of us with a serious girlfriend. He and Cheryl have been going out for almost three years now.

Nevertheless, I was able to lie right to his face with ease. Ah, the benefits of having the Lord of Lies and the Pharaoh of Denial as your brother... It means a lot of practice. "Doubtful," I scoffed just as I thought of the one thing, the _one_ thing that a girlfriend did and Lizzie didn't. "After all, contrary to what everyone says, I'm _not_ actually having sex with her, and I understand that girlfriends offer up some sexual favors, depending on how much they like you." Or, unfortunately, with anyone else, for that matter. Honestly, it's supremely annoying to be frequently accused of something you're not actually doing because you're labeled with the crime, but you're not getting any benefits out of it. I realize that having sex with you is not necessarily a girlfriend's duty, and that my relationship with Lizzie has been somehow bizarrely trending in that direction because she confuses me with Derek or else secretly wants me (but, seriously, come on!), but Lizzie and I don't really have that kind of relationship. Or, at any rate, we shouldn't.

Jeremy looked even more serious than usual. He placed his hand on my shoulder, making me uncomfortable, and was sure to look me straight in the eyes. Jeremy has a way of seeing right through a person. He's a caring guy who believes firmly in treating women well, and sometimes when the other guys talk about girls, he has to leave because he physically just can't stand it, the way they do it. He and his girlfriend are also good friends of Lizzie, so he, like me, actually cares about her. Cheryl's a diver, and Jeremy's a runner (and one of few people who've managed to kick Lizzie's ass in basketball). The rest of my friends think of Lizzie as a sex object more than anything, and they tolerate and respect her because she's my sister and a huge part of my life. "Seriously, Edwin, are you sure she doesn't want more? That her feelings don't maybe run a little bit deeper...?" he asked, and I couldn't hate him for asking. I had to respect that because I knew it was coming from the bottom of his heart, that he was actually concerned with Lizzie's feelings and didn't want to see her hurt. That meant a lot to me.

I'm not sure I could hurt her if I even tried. Not just physically, like that anything I could possibly say or do would actually wound her grievously in some way because she's so strong, but I don't even think I could make myself cause her injury because it'd be the equivalent of shooting myself in the foot, stabbing myself in the chest. Hurting her hurts me too. I shook my head immediately in response, not even having to think about it for a minute. "Trust me, Jere, I'm positive. Lizzie's crazy for this other man. Emphasis on the crazy," I assured him, fighting off a shudder just thinking about it. My friends all exchanged surprised looks.

They were doubtlessly going to ask lots of questions, and I'd be obliged to remain tight-lipped for the both of us. Fortunately, however, we were interrupted before they started asking difficult questions about just how alike (and different) me and the man of her dreams, a.k.a. my older brother, were. Ironically, my conveniently-timed interruption was courtesy of the aforementioned sister. "Good morning, Sir John Sparrow Thompson High! Now, for your morning announcements... Chess to impress? Chess Club meets today after school in Mr. Jacobsen's room... Come support your fellow bulldogs against the Lucas Vikings tonight at five sharp at the girls' basketball game! Go Bulldogs! And on Saturday afternoon, don't miss our boys go up against the Tigers on the ice! Let's show Saunders that we mean business by having more fans than they do!" The voice was very peppy and very, very familiar.

My friends and I exchanged disbelieving looks. Apparently I wasn't the only one who knew that voice; I could only nod numbly, wondering what Lizzie was doing saying the announcements. There was a revolving lottery for that, but most times our class president or head office secretary wound up doing that boring job. No matter how hard poor Shelbert tries, he lacks his brother's knack for spicing up an otherwise dull situation with his particular brand of shleppiness. There was a long pause. "And, on a much brighter note, this song goes out to a dear friend of mine, Edwin Venturi. Happy birthday, Ed!" Liz said quickly, switching it to my favorite song ("Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind) and obviously running the hell out of there.

By that point, everyone was gaping at me, including people who weren't entirely sure who I was. There aren't many people here at SJST who haven't somehow heard of me, whether through my pranks, my academic prowess, my sister, my brother, or... gossip. A lot of people who didn't previously know it was my birthday walked past me, flashing awkward smiles and squeezing my arm or patting me on the shoulder and giving me their best wishes. I smiled back sardonically, mirthlessly, until Liz came running down the hall, beaming at me.

When I saw her I smiled back and shoved my books into Jimmy's hands, offering my hand out to Lizzie, who took it, still grinning. We started dancing in the middle of the hallway, the fast, barely touching, crazy fun kind because one doesn't really grind with one's sister or slow dance to a song like this. I'm not the type to show off my dancing skills in the hallway, but I was in too much of a good mood to ignore my gut. Besides, the whole school already thought I was sleeping with Lizzie, so what do I care if they see me dancing in the hallway (and I wasn't even the only one dancing. I was just the only one with a partner who was fully giving into the natural impulse)? The mood was infectious. We were spinning and busting out crazy dance moves and singing off-key and laughing hysterically, and, you know, when one of the most popular girls in school is dancing with someone of my level of notoriety, other people tend to follow the trend. Everyone knew the words, too.

Well, as well as one can know the words to that song, at any rate. I feel that the soundtrack to my life would involve a lot of semi-depressing nineties music. Anyway, I was in the middle of twirling Lizzie around when all of a sudden a hard hand comes crashing down on my shoulder, forcing me to turn around. Facing me was good old Vice-Principal Vernon Manilowski, a stern and imposing gray-haired man with ramrod posture. Aside from having a huge stick up his ass, he also happens to be in charge of discipline. He has an obsessive fixation with order and cleanliness, and if one were to describe him in two words, those words would be neat and Draconian, but one could also add that he's coldly efficient and a little bit bloodthirsty. He greeted me with a full-on scowl. "Edwin Venturi, you need to come with me to my office. The principal's busy, so I guess I'll have to babysit you until he gets back," he stated, voice so even he could've easily passed for the robot we all secretly knew he was.

The reason Vernon can't discipline me himself is because, well, for starters, they can't prove I did anything. He also lacks the kind of real power that our principal has, which is, of course, the power to deal with some of the more notorious of us rule-breakers. He also wasn't qualified to deal with me because I'm a repeat offender, so district policy indicates that the principal must deal with me personally, for fairness' sake. He pulled on my arm, yanking me away from Lizzie, who, from the odd glance I got over my shoulder, looked horrified and alarmed. Manilowski glowered at the surrounding students, "Stop dancing and go about your business already! You people have classes to be getting to, and I will give each and every one of you a month of detention if you don't immediately cease and desist, you hear me?" he growled, causing everyone to freeze and then disperse, casting worried glances over their shoulders.

I was turned and directed to his office like a prisoner to a cell. I glanced back at Lizzie, whose eyes glittered with determination and motioned for her to just let it be. I can find my own way out of a jam, and, hell, better this than my English class, right? When we got to his office, Manilowski practically threw me into a chair and seated himself rather prissily behind his desk. "So, Venturi, I suggest you start talking," he began, already trying to play hardball. Naturally, I wasn't about to talk; I've had enough training to know better. He wasn't my brother or someone who could bully me around.

"Look, Manilow, you're not going to get anything out of me. I'm not some little freshman you can scare into doing your bidding. We both know you have nothing on me. After all, you can't really bust me for having a song dedicated to me over the announcements, can you? Besides, we _all_ know that Lassiter likes me more than he likes you," I drawled coolly, not even having to try to imitate Derek. This attitude, this inherent mistrust and sarcasm towards authority, had long ago been ingrained in me. Besides, I had the security of being right. Lassiter doesn't trust his deputy here, and everybody knows it.

Vernon's face tensed and turned an interesting shade of red, but I was aiming for something a bit more interesting color-wise. I wanted to try for purple. He doesn't tolerate disrespect or defiance very well, and he gets angry far too easily for someone of his post. I think he wishes he was a dictator. "Shut up, Venturi. I can and will keep you here all day if I want to. Now, why don't you tell me which little friend of yours likes you enough to take over the school's airwaves?" Vernon snapped, irritation showing in his voice.

Amateur, I thought dismissively. It's very important to be the master of your own temper, and there is something to be said about concealing your emotions, especially rage. You wouldn't know it from looking at me, but buried deep inside of me there's a hard, hot ball of repressed ire and resentment. I just smirked at him, knowing full well just how infuriating it would be to him. "You know, Barry _Manilow, _I don't think I will... Plus, what does that say about how you're doing your job if you can't even find out who did the morning announcements?" I taunted. I should also add that, while each and every one of us students calls him that behind his back, you don't do it to his face unless you have a death wish because he's very sensitive about it.

Seriously, though, what does it say about school administration if the Vice-Principal can't even figure out who was in the main office, reading the announcements? Did he even think of asking a secretary? Nevertheless, I wasn't about to voice that thought to him. Vernon glowered at me, giving me the very convincing impression that he wanted to punch me in the face. "Do yourself a favor, Venturi, and shut your trap before I shut it for you. If that's the way you want to play, I'll just keep you here until Lassiter shows up," Manilowski growled. Fine by me, I thought, sitting there in silence. I knew it'd get to him eventually; it was only a matter of time.

The silence droned on until someone knocked on the door loudly, rap after rap, rather desperately, actually. Vernon scowled, sneer already forming on his face, and called for the person to come in. The door burst open, and Lizzie practically fell into the room, breathless. I raised an eyebrow, both surprised and suspicious to see her there. "Oh, thank God you're here, Vice-Principal Manilowski!" Lizzie exclaimed. She was laying it on a little thick, what with the full title. He regarded her with a mild distaste. She did her best to look rather distraught. "The boys' toilets are all stopped up. They've overflowed into the hallways! Mr. Hughes told me to tell you... He's trying to take care of it, but it's... a bit much for one person."

Manilowski's eyes widened, and he stood up immediately. His eyes flicked over to me irritably. "Despite how beneath me this is, I must deal with this crisis. Mr. Venturi, you will remain here until I say you may leave," Manilowski barked, pointing at me, locking the door, and then exiting with the swish of his dumb sportcoat. Lizzie pointed down the hallway but managed to stick around, putting her foot in the door to keep it propped open. She crossed her arms over her chest, smirking at me, before motioning with a finger for me to come.

It was sexy as hell; I'm not going to lie. I got up from my seat, giving her a questioning glance. "Really?" Lizzie nodded, peering out the door before popping her head back in and motioning for me to come towards her. She pushed the door open slowly, taking my hand like second nature and leading me away from the office. "You?" I asked quietly, as we began to walk to my English class.

She didn't even have to nod but gave me a knowing look instead. "What kind of Venturi would I be if I didn't know how to flood a bathroom?" she scoffed. She didn't see me wince painfully at that comment. Lizzie was my sister, yes, but she would never truly be a Venturi, regardless of whether or not she knew how to flood all the boys' bathrooms. Then, as we rounded a corner, she reached up, pulling my textbooks off of the top of a locker and handing them to me. She kind of thrust them into my gut, knocking all of the wind out of me, but I figured I had that coming.

We stopped in front of my English class. Lizzie frowned a little bit. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble, Ed," she said apologetically. I waved it off because I hadn't blamed her. I didn't really consider it her fault, and he was clearly grasping at straws.

"No problem, Liz. It's not like it's anything new... And you got me out of it," I said, shrugging. It's not the first time I've had to see Manilowski, and she'd rescued me from it. It's hard finding a girl who'll flood _one_ bathroom for you, let alone three. So few girls know how to do that, let alone quickly, and most of them wouldn't dare to even risk getting in trouble, much less to serve as a distraction for someone else. Lizzie smiled shyly, shrugging, and pushing open the door and shoving me inside rather ungracefully.

We both received stern reprimands (although Lizzie's was accompanied by a suspicious look, as she'd supposedly been in the bathroom this whole time) for that, but we were otherwise ignored. The rest of the period passed rather uneventfully, then we parted ways—myself to Gym, and Lizzie to Statistics, our least favorite classes, respectively. Gym was unpleasant as always. This time we ran a dizzying amount of laps to "warm up" and then played a game of Dodgeball. I'm actually fairly good at Dodgeball because I have quite literally spent my entire life trying to dodge the ball, but I was really winded from all of those laps... and I came out of it a bit more bruised and sweaty than I would've liked.

We're also one of those old-fashioned schools where they make you shower afterwards (if you're a guy, at least). I try taking five second showers to avoid the awkwardness that is the group shower as much as I can with basically soap across my shoulders and under the armpits, and sometimes a shampoo, or go for the private shower if at all possible. This time I was forced to suffer the indignity of the group shower (because I'm skinny, awkward, pale, and actually a very private person), so I turned on the water, not even waiting for it to heat up, briefly dragging the soap across my skin in the necessary places, rinsing it off, and then putting on my towel and leaving. Parts of me were still dry. I was harassed by some of the jock types, per usual, but I ignored them and went to my locker, hurriedly pulling on my clothes.

As I was pulling my shirt out of my locker, I heard a thud. I pulled my shirt away to reveal a dark glass bottle of cologne half-wrapped in paper. Predictably, as I unwrapped the tissue paper, a scrap of a note fell out. I held it up, and scanned the contents. _See, Edwin, now you can smell yummy too... Seriously, though, I smelled this and thought of you. It came to me; this is what Edwin should smell like... And this is also my nice way of saying that the bug spray (or Derek's old cologne) isn't doing it for you or anyone, and if you think it does, then something is seriously wrong with your nose, and you should get that checked out. Enjoy!_

Dan came up behind me as I was holding the bottle and note, contemplating it. Her note was actually mildly insulting, but she is my sister, after all, and I appreciate her honesty. "Yummy? Your sister's telling you how she wants you to smell now?" he said in that voice that emphasized the abnormality of our sibling relationship. I shrugged and pocketed the note, taking the cap off of the cologne and taking a whiff. It actually did smell pretty damn good. I held it up to Dan to smell. He nodded. "Okay, I take back what I insinuated. That smells twenty times better than you usually smell, and the girls will be all over you. Lizzie's a genius, and I want her to buy me cologne too," Dan acknowledged excitedly.

I pulled my cologne away from his nose and made a show of waving my hand in front of his face as if to ward off stench. "Yeah, because the heavy aroma of sandalwood, patchouli, and incense _really_ isn't working for you," I teased back, spraying myself with the cologne before pulling my shirt on. Dan knocked me off balance with a shove, but I wasn't really kidding about his smell. It's kind of an overwhelming hippie smell, and the cologne equivalent of garlic and onions (meaning that most girls stay far away from it). I put the cap on the bottle and slipped it in my pocket, intending to put it in my locker.

Then I left the gym, heading towards my locker, conversing with Dan about why his scent drives girls away, but Teddy still manages to score girls wearing Axe like an eighth-grader. I pointed out that the only reason this is possible is because Teddy gets girls to the point where they're practically incapacitated, where such things don't matter at all. I was walking innocently in the hallway when all of a sudden there's this little hand on my arm, stopping me in my tracks. "Hey, Edwin! I know you're really busy and everything, but I just wanted to say Happy Birthday. And I didn't just remember because it was on the announcements, just so you know... Lizzie's been going on about her plans for weeks," Sylvia greeted me brightly.

She didn't take her hand off my arm, and I noticed. I smiled back easily and studiously ignored the way Dan was rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Sylvia... you wouldn't happen to have a present for me, would you?" I asked charmingly. Dan winced, covering his face. He's had to put up with this for a lot of years, and he and Lizzie are of similar opinions, only his is based on the fact that it's unwise and like playing with fire, getting involved with one of my sister's closest friends. He might be right, but that hasn't stopped me. Unfortunately, however, Sylvia just stared at me with a clueless look on her face.

Sylvia scratched her head, frowning slightly. "I don't really get what you mean, Edwin... Liz hasn't given me anything to give to you, if that's what you're wondering..." I wanted to smack myself in the head for ever getting hopeful. No, you dumbass, Lizzie might be the best sister in the world, but she's not going to give you her best friend on a platter. You aren't getting a girl to unwrap this birthday, or probably any birthday, for that matter.

Dan stifled a snicker, and I elbowed him hard in the side, not in the mood for it. I gave Sylvia my most convincing and charming grin, which then proceeded to morph into the pout I'd never been able to perfect. "What, no kiss? Where's my birthday kiss?" I questioned flirtatiously, leaning in a bit too close to her, eying her expectantly. Then, as if my point wasn't sufficiently clear then, I let my eyes pointedly fall to her lips.

Sylvia sighed almost wearily, putting her hands on her hips. "You sure are persistent, Venturi, but you should know I'm no birthday hooker... but, oh, what the hell!" she conceded, stunning me into silence by softly putting her hands on my shoulders and coming closer. Dan was staring at me in open disbelief, and I didn't blame him because, frankly, I didn't really believe it either, even as her lips were coming closer and closer to mine. Then, just when I thought she was going to kiss me on the lips, she turned her head suddenly and kissed me instead on the cheek. Lizzie might be a bit more of a tease, but she doesn't switch her aim midstream. I had to fight down a groan of disappointment, and Dan was barely able to restrain his laughter.

She pulled back, grinning wickedly, and wiped the lipstick off my cheek. We were standing pretty close, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized we were in a quasi-hug, and my free hand was on her waist. Sylvia gave me an arch look. "Now, is that a bottle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" she drawled teasingly, fingering the stem and stopper of the bottle poking out of my pocket. I swear she leaned towards me and batted her eyelashes a little, but that could've just been a hallucination.

I smirked and leaned even further forwards, twisting one of my hips to press the bottle even further against her. Sylvia started a bit at the unexpected pressure and looked flustered, adding to my amusement. "I'm _always_ happy to see you," I responded similarly, leering at her unabashedly. Sylvia reddened a bit and pushed me away defensively.

She shook her head at me, sly grin still in place, even as she backed away. "You are one giant flirt, Edwin Venturi, and you don't get near enough credit for it," she proclaimed, wagging her finger at me. She didn't sound quite as outraged as she might've but, rather, flattered, like she'd enjoyed the attention. I perked up a bit, and Sylvia continued to back away. "Don't have too much fun, okay, Birthday Boy. I'll see you later," she warned over her shoulder, offering me a brief wave before turning her back on me.

Dan was staring at me, jaw wide open. "Man, did you seriously just flirt with Sylvia? What's gotten into you?" He doesn't really see me flirt like that much... I'm usually more subtle. The thing, however, that really stunned him was that Sylvia was actually maybe flirting back. I think. Dan doesn't see my flirting work much. I just shrugged and continued walking, but I was blindsighted by someone slapping the books out of my hand. They fell and hit my foot, and accordingly, I let out a cry of pain.

Then, taking advantage of the stillness of the moment, my surprise, and my open mouth, Tanya forced her lips on mine, roughly and somewhat unpleasantly shoving her tongue down my throat and swirling it around, with no finesse to speak of. I tried to be unresponsive, but Tanya not only dragged her nails down my chest but grabbed my balls ferociously, through my jeans, of course. It was mostly painful, but also a little bit of a turn-on because she literally had me by the balls, and, well, that's a pretty natural physiological reaction. About a second later, I pushed her off of me. Tanya recovered well and grinned at me madly, lipstick smeared halfway across her face. "Happy birthday, Edwin!" she exclaimed cheerily before dashing down the hallway.

Dan continued to stare at me, mouth even wider than before, if that was at all possible. "She... she was totally going for third-base there!" I rolled my eyes at him because it was Tanya, after all, and I've come to expect that sort of thing from her. He shook his head at me, whistling. "You know, she might be one heap of crazy, but she's hot as hell, and she wants _you_, for whatever reason. That cologne Lizzie gave you must have, like, hormones in it or something!" he continued, sounding somewhat awed.

"You mean pheromones," I corrected, sighing as I bent down to pick up my books. I fought the urge to tell Dan that it hasn't been conclusively proven that humans have olfactory pheromones or that they work. The violation of Tanya throwing herself at me and groping me was one thing, but I was really pissed off that she'd knocked my stuff out of my hands. That was just obnoxious. We resumed walking, but once again, I was interrupted by someone grabbing and squeezing my ass. I shouted and whirled around to face the culprit. Initially, I thought it was Tanya come back for more, but this time it was my super-bubbly stepsister instead. This made some sense, given as it was our lunch period, and everyone else was either in class or the cafeteria. I did my best to glower at her, even though it was hard to be mad at her.

She smiled guiltily, if not a bit pridefully, not at all ashamed of what she'd done. Dan was laughing hysterically at me, the traitor. "Excuse me, Liz, but did you just grab my ass?!" Lizzie beamed and nodded because of course she had. "Hello to you too," I rejoined grumpily, crossing my arms over my chest and refusing to look at her. I felt weird, like you do when someone brushes against you in the hall a little too close, and you're uncomfortable, especially if it's his or her hand, so I touched the same area she had, trying to erase the part of skin that remembered her touch. It didn't quite work.

The first thing I noticed, other than her insane enthusiasm, was that she was holding a transparent plastic container filled with something... lumpy? I blinked, and Lizzie suddenly shoved the box behind her back. She made a face at me, moving closer. The way she swaggered towards me, one arm swinging free, reminded me of a predator. "Hey, you're lucky I _only_ grabbed your ass! I could've spanked you in front of your cute friend here, but that would've been embarrassing!" she retorted, motioning to Dan. She fluttered her eyelashes at him prettily, and Dan smiled back equally flirtatiously.

As I said previously, Lizzie and Dan used to date. I didn't really like it much, but I put up with it. Dan even asked to make sure I was okay with it (Lizzie wouldn't have bothered, clearly), and I wasn't about to stand in the way of their possible happiness, so I lied. They dated for six months in the latter part of Grade Ten, and that was probably the longest relationship either of them have had. They were attracted to each other and everything (I know because I walked in on them making out on the couch numerous times), but they eventually broke up because of a lack of chemistry. Lizzie said dating Dan was like dating her brother (oh, the _irony_!). They've always gotten along really well, even with the break-up, and Lizzie is probably closer to Dan than she is to most of my other friends. They're just friends now, and I know that, but they do have a slightly alarming habit of flirting with each other in front of me.

I glowered at Lizzie and craned my neck, trying to see what was behind her back. "And being goosed in school by my sister isn't?" I argued, still absentmindedly touching my ass.

Lizzie made a face at me, crossing an arm over her chest pridefully. She smiled at me confidently, so much so that she almost resembled Derek. "Not when your sister's as hot as me," Liz countered immediately, utterly cock-sure, throwing a hand on her hip, "You _wish_ you could Flower my Attic, Venturi." She was as fast as a whip, and, oh, snap, she was right about the first part, at least. My sister is... many people will acknowledge that she's attractive or... hot, including even myself. I didn't really understand the second phrase, but by the look of Daniel's face, raised eyebrows and all, he sure did. I blinked in confusion.

There was a challenge inherent in her voice, a kind of sauciness I associated with teasing me and provoking me into doing or saying things I didn't want to do. "That doesn't even make sense, Liz."

She looked positively gleeful, practically jumping. "Ha! Yes, it does!" she exclaimed loudly, pointing a finger in the air. I tilted my head, looking her over, and thought she looked adorably insane. I smiled slightly. "You just obviously haven't heard of the classic works of V.C. Andrews, which is ridiculous because you've read like half the school library... Even the cheesy, trashy, barely-readable romance novels because we like to read them aloud and mock them and then write mean things in them. Like Twilight or Vampire Kisses, or anything involving vampires or pirates... why don't they write any ninja or werewolf stories? Are they not as sexy or something?" Lizzie rambled, continuing to amuse me. The smile on my face widened with every word, whereas Dan merely looked incredulous that we read romance novels to mock them and write things in them.

Lizzie shook her head as if to get back on track. "But anyways, Casey reads all those trashy books, you know," Lizzie continued, "They're her guilty pleasure. She would hide them in your room under the floorboards... 'cause she was afraid Derek would find them and..." She trailed off mysteriously, a strange look crossing her face as she said it, as if she was realizing something. There had to be some significance to all of it that I was missing, something unspoken or at least better left unspoken. That meant, of course, that it was something about Derek and Casey's relationship, something that might shift its present interpretation. I pushed that aside, merely staring at Lizzie, wondering what this odd digression had to do with anything.

She brightened up a bit, desperate to change the subject, and produced the box from behind her. That didn't stop me from noticing her quick, slightly worried glance to Dan, who wore a knowing look I envied. "Speaking of Casey, Brother Dearest..." Lizzie offered me the box. I opened it warily to reveal cookies and baked goods of every possibly variety: chocolate chip cookies, chocolate macadamia nut cookies, white and black cookies, sugar cookies, brownies, blondies, Hershey's kiss cookies, M&M cookies, fudge, snickerdoodles, macaroons, meringue cookies, lemon bars, ginger snaps, etcetera. Lizzie smiled slightly. "From Casey, with love."

I would've said something, but I was in the process of shoving two chocolate chip cookies into my mouth, so I threw an arm around Lizzie affectionately and tried to swallow. Lizzie leaned in closer than I intended, so that her nose brushed against my Adam's apple and made me choke a little bit. Dan gave me a bemused look but didn't speak. He probably felt as if he was intruding on a private moment. Lizzie seemed to bury herself in my arms, to practically mold our bodies together. Then she inhaled deeply, nose slipping down, landing in the hollow of my throat, making my muscles tighten involuntarily (tortuously), and she pulled away, grinning goofily at me.

She giggled, a beautiful, clear, happy sound, hands holding my lapels. "You're wearing the cologne I got you already," she cried merrily, still laughing. There was a certain feminine pride in her voice, though, and a kind of disbelief, too. Lizzie looked up at me, and suddenly her facial expression was completely serious again. Then she leaned in once more, up on her tiptoes, so she could get a good whiff of me. "Mm, Ed... You smell good enough to eat," Liz murmured in a low voice that was almost dreamy, sounding kind of like a sigh or the contented sound she makes when she's eating something rich, sweet, and thick. I felt that familiar maddening tightening sensation, the necessary urge to tug at my once-again constricting clothes that now fit a bit too snugly.

I didn't need to look at Dan to read his mind because the careless comment resounded in me uncomfortably. There she was in my arms, pressing tightly against me, saying things in that not-quite husky tone of voice that made my insides simultaneously harden and turn to gelatin. My mouth was fortunately full of cookie, or else I certainly would've said something stupid. She rubbed her nose against my neck, bringing her whole body more fully against mine, sliding grittily, rubbing herself against me and taking pleasure in it like a cat would. It was hard to swallow; the cookie had become a hard ball in my throat, and it was rather difficult to breathe with her curled up against my side like this. I pried myself away from her slowly, swallowing hard.

Lizzie grinned. "So, lunch?" she asked nonchalantly, taking my arm and leading me out of the school. I glanced over my shoulder at Dan, who was shaking his head at me in disapproval. I tore my eyes away from his, which had me feeling guiltier by the moment, like I was doing a crime when I was just eating with my sister. I let myself get caught up in the familiar sound of Lizzie's chatter, the varying pitch and animated intonation I knew as well as the back of my hand, without really hearing a lot of her words. We went to our favorite Thai restaurant, Bangkok Garden, for lunch. As usual, Lizzie ordered something very spicy, made faces, and sucked down three glasses of water, while I ordered my typical Pad Thai.

It was a pleasant lunch, filled with idle conversation and quiet eating. Just before the end Lizzie informed them that it was my birthday, and they sang to me and hurried out with a fancy dessert on the house. Don't get me wrong, it was a wonderful lunch, but nothing about it reassured me. It didn't assuage the strange feelings from before or the overwhelming sensation that I was doing something wrong that hadn't quite gone away as easily as I wished they would. It was like I was living in a world of make-believe where it was a non-issue, like that unspeakable thing between older brother and older sister; where whatever this weirdness was, it was treated as if it didn't exist. I still felt unsettled, like something was shifting and I couldn't fix it, couldn't push it back, couldn't just ignore it.

We headed back, but I was quiet despite Lizzie's attempts at conversation. I just told her I had a good time and left it at that before turning on the radio. She got the hint. We pulled up to school a few minutes late, and I started to get up to leave but Lizzie stopped me with a hand on my wrist. "Hang on, I've got something for you," she said before bending over, stretching herself across my lap to open up the glove compartment. Her breasts barely brushed against my knee and thigh, causing me to stiffen reflexively. She reached in the compartment and pulled out a nice black hat, twisting around so she could set it jauntily on my head.

I like hats a lot, especially fun, different hats, but the gifts were almost starting to get to me. I didn't feel like I deserved all of this when I was really this sick, crummy person inside. What have I done to merit this special treatment? It was more than that, though. Each gift made it abundantly clear how alarmingly well she knew me. I'd never quite realized that Lizzie knew me nearly this well. She knows my favorite color, my favorite song, my taste in clothes, my sizes, my favorite foods and restaurants... She knows what I want and what I need. She knows my past and my present. She remembers things that I never thought she even paid attention to, and, in a way, it kind of scares me. Because it's rare, finding someone who knows you and understands you that completely, and that... doesn't come along every day, and it's so very easy to completely screw it all up.

Nevertheless, I managed a smile and thanked Lizzie, but I didn't touch her as I normally would have. No kiss on the cheek, no hug, not even a squeeze of her hand. Instead, I begged off that I had class and that my teacher would be mad if I was any later. Lizzie gave me a skeptical look (given that she knows that I have Drama now), but I hurried out of there nonetheless. I tried and failed to stop thinking about the awkwardness that had settled over my bones like a second skin, but it shone through when we were doing our pointless acting warm-ups.

Of course, crazy Mrs. Zeldin made a beeline for my partner and me. I think that, having known both my brother and sister, she takes a sadistic pleasure in making this class as unpleasant and embarrassing for me as possible. I think she also might actually be deluded enough to think I'm good at this just because my siblings were leads in a musical(s, in Casey's case) of hers. However, unlike Derek, this class actually is easy (although pointless) for me, so this woman can't compel me into starring in any pioneer or Wild West-themed original productions. She frowned at me, as usual, no doubt ready to complain yet again about my "lack of passion for the _grrreat_ art of the theatre."

She shook her head at me, making tsking sounds. "Edwin, Edwin, Edwin... What can I do with you?" she sighed a bit dramatically, in my opinion. I realize that I must be a frustrating student, but that comment sounded a little... odd. "Edwin, honestly, it's like you're in another world today! I know you're not my most invested student, but at least try to get in the mind of your character!" she exclaimed, moving so that she was standing right next to me, looking over my shoulder. I almost felt a little guilty... almost. Well, what do you expect, Mrs. Z? I'm no Wendel Wiggins. I'm not even a Wally Wiggins. She jabbed the script with her index finger rather violently. "Now, you're playing Chris. You've been cut off from the rest of the world except your siblings. Your mother and grandmother abuse and abandon you. And you're a growing teenage boy with sexual desires and no one to tell you about sex. All you know is that it's wrong. Oh, and you're kind of obsessed with your sister," she explained bluntly.

I blinked at her in shock because, well, that was a lot to take in (and, wow, I really hadn't been paying attention to this script! I thought it was about a poor immigrant family struggling to survive!) and... it sounded a bit like my life. My partner snorted and was about to say something, but Mrs. Zeldin continued explaining it to me. "You're curious... and well, your sister, Cathy is there... and you're very attracted to her. You can't help but wonder what it'd be like, even though you know it's wrong. And all of that leads to you being full of anger and sexual frustration, so you're basically a ticking timebomb," she elaborated, her voice taking on a disturbing timbre. Okay, now that sounds even more like my life. It almost makes me think she's doing this on purpose.

My partner chimed in suddenly, "Well, that should be easy for him. After all, he already knows what it's like to want to screw his sister." I glanced up and noticed for the first time that Rebecca St. Clair was standing opposite of me. Rebecca sits on the top of the social pyramid, to be quite honest, and she's the mean girl type. She's close friends with Lizzie and Sylvia, but I don't get what any of them see in her because she's a total bitch. Oh, she's gorgeous, but behind the perfect skin, ice blue eyes, bright red hair, and killer body, she's a soulless Ice Queen who loves nothing better than to look down her nose at you. Every guy in the school might want her, but she won't have anything to do with any of them. And, guess what, she absolutely _despises_ me for reasons unknown.

Rebecca always gives me these snide, suspicious looks, like she sees right through me. I don't understand why she hates me so openly and for no real reason at all, but the only thing I can think of is that she's jealous that I'm Lizzie's best friend. I glowered at Rebecca because this is truly ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, I'd probably have sex with her if I had the opportunity, but I don't fantasize about her like all her other little fanboys. Though she'd probably be a better choice... But, anyway, the point is that I'm not attracted to her enough to want to play her love interest. "Shut up, Rebecca. You don't know anything about me," I snapped, failing to deny her allegation.

This realization hit me as soon as I finished saying it, and there was a kind of victorious gleam in Rebecca's eyes. It was the kind of self-satisfied look that said "I knew it all along." Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at me. As president of Thespians and female lead of every school play since she decided she liked acting, she takes acting very seriously and wants to become a movie star. Given how well she can act like a decent person in front of the right people, that's not an entirely impossible goal. "Look, _Edweirdo_, this play is practically your life, so suck it up and start reading! I mean, this guy helps his sister take care of his younger brother and sister; he's got an absentee mother and a weird current running through his family; he lives in the attic, **and** he lusts after his sister! This guy is pretty much you in a blond wig! So you have no excuse to sit there and do nothing," she sniped viciously.

It surprised me that she was showing her true colors in front of Mrs. Zeldin. When she said it like that, it really did sound almost exactly like my life... minus Derek. Still, it surprised me that she knew about my real mother or that I lived in the attic, and, even more, that she noticed the weird vibe that runs through my family. I wasn't aware she and Lizzie were _that_ close or that she was over often enough to notice. It was a slap in the face, having my life thrown out there like that, so cavalierly. I kind of wished Mrs. Zeldin would say something, but I didn't bother waiting. "Okay, you know what, I don't lust after my sister. And, frankly, I'm pretty damn tired of the whole school thinking I'm either sleeping with her or wanting to sleep with her. I'm not an incestuous _freak_ like that guy in the damn play, okay?!" I growled.

Rebecca rolled her eyes theatrically. She's a nasty piece of work. "You were always a freak, Edweenie, even if you didn't want to have sex with my friend. And I'm not stupid. I see the way you look at her just a little too closely... So far, Eddie, the only difference between you and the guy in the play is that he _rapes_ his sister. Or are you just working your way up to that?" she sneered, eyes confrontational. If she wasn't a girl and my sister's friend, I would've slugged her. As it was, my hands were tied.

I wanted to scream or get my anger out in some other, more therapeutic way, something far more productive than making my hands into fists and grinding my teeth. Mrs. Zeldin glanced up from the notes she'd been taking of our little confrontation and smiled sheepishly. I wanted to punch her in the face. "Sorry, kids, just revising my script a little." No doubt to include some form of that conversation in the stupid play. She looked sternly at Rebecca. "Rebecca, my little tiger, I see that you're angry at what you perceive as Edwin's lack of commitment to the role... but you must understand that it's not his fault. Taking your frustration out on him doesn't particularly help the play, as Cathy and Chris are best friends and partners. They have a high level of mutual trust and respect for each other," Mrs. Z said calmly, chastising her.

For a moment, I relished in that small victory, but I was still absolutely furious. Especially since her description of that relationship was exactly like my relationship with Liz. Ms. Z then turned to me, and I attempted to remain calm and in control. "Edwin, I sense that you're very insulted and very upset at the things Rebecca said about you... And there's a reason that what she said affected you so strongly because obviously Rebecca knows how to push your buttons... But, since the theatre is all about discovery, maybe you need to come to the realization that this part is particularly suited to you." Is she trying to get me to try out for this damn thing, whatever the hell... Whoa, wait, this play's called Flowers in the Attic? That's the same name as the book Liz was talking about earlier... It can't be, can it?!

I shook that thought aside and interrupted Ms. Z before she could start lecturing me about my role or bullying me into doing something. More like Rebecca hates my guts, but okay, Ms. Z, continue living in the realm of theatre. Is it at all surprising that this is the brilliant mind that thought up Yo Ho Ahoy? There was a flinty look in Mrs. Zeldin's eyes that made me think she'd deliberately given me this script. And then I remembered that she'd cast my brother, Casey's _stepbrother_, in the role of evil-pirate-who-tries-to-steal-the-maiden-away-from-her-true-love-the-deckhand. When you really think about it, it sounds like a rip-off of Pirates of the Caribbean or worse still, a strange, eerily prophetic caricature of the current situation.

"She basically said that I was angling to rape my sister and best friend, Ms. Z, so, yeah, I'd say I'm pretty pissed off. And I tend to get people riding me about my relationship with my sister a lot, so, yeah, it's kind of a sore point for me. And I want to kick her **ass**, but I can't do that, now, can I, because I'm in school, and she's a girl, and she's my sister's friend! So, yeah, Ms. Z, how's _that_ for drama?! Now, excuse me, but I'm _not_ about to stand here and be forced to read lines with the bitch. I'm not going to pretend like I'm romantically interested in her or that she's my sister when she'll just continue to insult me, and you know what, I don't even care what you do to me because I've had **enough**," I shouted before storming out, practically shaking with rage.

I was still out of sorts, but I had enough presence of mind to text Lizzie. _Leaving early. Taking the Prince. You should get a ride home. Sorry. _I put my phone away before she answered so I couldn't see her reply. Lizzie had been on the brain in one way or another all day long, and I just wanted to stop thinking about her. I was sick of feeling weird, of everyone pressing the damn issue, making me feel like a sick pervert. Normally people don't say things to my face about it like that, or if they do, they just insinuate. And today had been... one hell of a day.

Since it was my birthday, I went home (despite feeling tempted to head down to the rink to exorcise some of my anger) and settled into a relaxing afternoon of Star Trek, one of few things that make me forget the world. And so it was that for the first time all day, I got Lizzie off my mind.

Loren ;*

Next chapter: More fun with the Secret Admirer, more presents, Star Trek, birthday shenanigans, and crazy Ukrainians. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for all the lovely reviews!


	13. Catalyst

So, first off, the lack of Lizwin fics seriously annoys me. I just feel like I should state that outright. Because if no one's going to write them, then how the heck am I going to be inspired? Am I just supposed to read the many hundreds of Dasey fics and expect to glean something from them? When the plots are about as original as a soap opera lately? Really? There is no reason why Lizzie and Edwin can't be just as interesting, if not more interesting than Derek and Casey. And blah, blah, blah, some people probably think that's blasphemy or whatever, but I disagree. 'Cause I'm just rather sick of the homogeneity.

Okay, so, to get down to business, this chapter was originally going to be part of the last chapter, but I decided that would be too long and separated them because this way you get two long chapters instead of one REALLY long chapter. And I want it to be kind of readable. Good plan, I think.

Thing about this chapter is that, to a large degree, I'm not satisfied with it, in particular the ending. Ugh, it still feels half-assed to me. I mean, I probably wasn't going to be satisfied with it anyways... but whatever. I just... am really not satisfied with writing drunken Edwin. Or with Liz and Ed's confrontation on the porch, for that matter, but I dunno why.

Also, let's see... this is basically where things start to get a little... chaotic. And kind of begin to really spiral out of control for Edwin. And, yeah. Um, what else? I've been thinking about the future of this fic, which sounds ominous but really means that I've kind of filled in some of the plot holes. By which I mean the hole between these next two chapters and Christmas and then a bit of the after Spring Break bit. Because I pattern events in my fics around holidays and the school year. Weird, I know.

Now, I don't own any Star Trek movies, nor do I own Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto (no matter how much I wish I did), Eric Bana, Uhura, the Sad Clown, any characters from LWD, any episodes to which allusions are made, and um, other stuff I'm probably too lazy to mention. Though I must say, the Star Trek references were fun to make! Also, interestingly, there's an upcoming Heroes episode with the same name as this fic. Which I find ironic and kind of hilarious, but I digress.

I do own: Zhenya, Oksana, cake, outfits, and other stuff I've invented that I'm too lazy to list out. And, yes, this chapter should make you nervous.

* * *

**Catalyst:** A substance that alters the speed of a chemical reaction, often initiating or accelerating it, without itself being consumed or affected.

* * *

I was on the verge of drifting off when my door creaked, alerting me to someone's presence. I blinked drowsily, straightening up. A few seconds later, the person crossed over to me. Lizzie plopped down next to me on the couch, immediately reaching her hand into the popcorn bowl. "So, what're we watching?" I remembered uncomfortably that the popcorn bowl was in my lap as her fingers scraped across it. When Lizzie looked at the screen, she made a face at me. "Really, Edwin, Nemesis?" she said in between bites. "You know this sucks. I don't even see why you own it. We both know Wrath of Khan is your favorite," she muttered, shaking her head at me and grabbing another handful of popcorn.

I blinked, still bleary-eyed. "Saw that one first." Lizzie gave me a skeptical look because logically this movie should be shown last out of all twelve Star Trek movies, and I haven't had time to watch all the others. The only subconscious explanation I can give is that I wanted an excuse to fall asleep. I shrugged. "And I was sleepy," I mumbled, burying my face in her shoulder, only my head wound up going a little too far to the left and wound up on her breast.

Surprisingly, Lizzie laughed, running her fingers through my hair. "A little more to the left, please," she murmured in a voice that was only half-jest. Part of my face rested on skin left exposed by her rather low-cut shirt. I forgot how soft her skin is, probably because I haven't touched this part of her for a long, long time. My cheekbone rested on part of her collarbone and the sloped plane just above her breasts, and part of my chin rested on the top of one of her breasts, barely touching the fabric. My lips almost brushed against her cleavage, and I was all too aware of it.

Liz sighed, pulling me closer, bringing her hand down the back of my neck to rest on the area between my shoulder blades, fingers absentmindedly stroking the skin there. "Besides, you should watch the prequel. It's the best of them all," she argued. I opened my eyes and glanced up at her, giving her a look. I slowly peeled my face away from her chest and looked her in the eyes. Her skin stuck to mine a little bit, and I immediately missed the warm, safe feeling.

"You're only saying that because you've got a thing for Chris Pine and want to drool over him," I retorted, grabbing some popcorn and trying to focus on the movie. It's her favorite movie but not mine. Call me nostalgic, but I kind of prefer the original, despite the imprecise special effects. Lizzie, however, and the terrible quality of the movie prevented me from paying attention.

"I'm saying that because it's a great movie... And the fact that I can sit and stare at Chris Pine _and_ Zachary Quinto for two hours is only an added bonus. And Eric Bana. And why is it okay for you to lust after Uhura but not for me to lust after the male cast members, huh, Edwin?" Lizzie countered, throwing me a dark look. I shrugged, unable to think of the proper answer for that question. _Because it's wrong_ was the thought that kept coming to mind, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I felt that way. Lizzie muttered something under her breath about double standards and then turned to me, giving me a look. "Besides, Edwin," she said a bit smugly, "you're _wrong_. Chris Pine's cute and all, don't get me wrong, but sandy blond isn't really my thing." She took great delight in telling me just how wrong I was.

Well, that was obvious, what with you loving my dark-haired brother and all. Logically, it makes sense, since we like people who in some way resemble us, and Lizzie and I are both brunettes. Furthermore, of course, the majority of humans have dark hair. Still, it is a bit odd that Lizzie and I are attracted to the same types of people once you swap out the sexes. I looked at Lizzie interestedly and motioned for her to go on further. "When it comes to Kirk and Spock, there's really no contest. Kirk might be the more human and charming of the two, but he's good for nothing more than a one-night stand. He lives life by the seat of his pants, more or less, and he's not going to settle down... Spock's a _genius_, a good and loyal friend, brave, kind, in control of his emotions, dependable, strangely sexy, and the kind of man who'll stick around. Beneath that cool exterior beats a white-hot pulsar of emotion. If he loves you, he loves you forever," Lizzie explained confidently.

That statement and her utter conviction in it made me feel a little funny. I agreed with her and her methods of reasoning and was impressed that she'd spent a considerable amount of time formulating that opinion (and the pulsar reference!). Spock also happens to be my favorite character, and I guess one could say I relate to him a great deal. After all, I repress my emotions (obviously, because if I didn't, I'd go around _exploding_ at people all the time), and my whole life I've kind of been pigeonholed as a science geek and stuck playing second-fiddle to the Golden Boy. So it was weird, hearing her say she'd pick the character most like _myself_. Still, her theory did seem rather odd, considering she basically described Derek when she described Captain Kirk, yet she loves him. I know love's like that, and maybe she's a kind of hypocrite or something, but it directly contradicts what she just said. In reality, she picks Kirk, no contest.

However, I only disagreed with her in my mind; outwardly, I gave no sign of it. I turned to face her more fully. "So, I know you're not here to watch Star Trek with me, Lizzie... what do you want?" I asked in a calm, measured voice. I'd forgotten most of my anger, buried it deep down inside until the rage had dissipated hours ago. Lizzie made a face at me, like she was hurt I didn't believe she wanted to watch the movie with me, but she eventually relented.

"Okay," she said, absently putting her hands on my knee and turning to face me more completely. "I have a present for you, dear brother," she drawled. I cocked an eyebrow at her. There was something about the way she said the words that made me wonder. A flush of excitement swept over her face during that brief moment of silence, and a minute later, she could no longer repress her exhilaration. She leaned down and away from me and picked something up. Oddly enough, it turned out to be a pile of maps and brochures. She handed me the pile, folding my hands around it.

I stared at her expectantly. "What's this, Liz?" I asked slowly, glancing at the brochures. I tried to read the front of them, but I didn't have enough time. Lizzie was grinning at me secretively, and she pulled a calendar and notebook from the bottom of the pile. The calendar was turned to the summer months of the year to come, and I stared at her in confusion until I noticed how it was all blocked out. There, written in red ink, underlined and circled, two days after the end of school, was a single word: _Departure._ I looked at her in confusion.

Liz was biting her lip, looking for the first time very apprehensive all of a sudden. "_Well_..." She drew out the word, looping her arm around mine. She looked at me briefly before her eyes flitted around, gaze eventually falling to the floor. "I know it's been your dream for a long time... that you've always wanted to go to the States. And I was thinking... if you wanted to, _only_ if you want to, of course... that we could go on a road trip together this summer," Lizzie told me with a shyness, a tentativeness that was out of place in our relationship. At first, I blinked dumbly, so shocked I could do nothing more than stare at her.

Like her sister, Lizzie starts babbling when she's nervous. This time was no exception. At my lack of response, Lizzie continued chattering on, occasionally glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. For the most part, however, she continued talking as if I wasn't even there. "I-I've been saving up for a while... and you're tighter than Scrooge. And... we get along well enough, and we already live together, so we're used to that... I _promise_ it'll be fun. I just... I know there's **no** **one** I'd rather spend the summer with... and, and I just know that you and I are going to go to different places after this summer, and I... you mean _so_ much to me, you know? And I want to spend as much time with you as I can before we have to go our separate ways. And, I mean, it's okay if you think it's totally stupid, and it's not what you want... I mean, I'll understand if you don't want to, so you're not being pressured to do anythi-" Lizzie rambled anxiously, emotionally.

She got a little choked up there, stumbling on her words, the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Lizzie sniffed, trying to act unaffected, pasting the uncertain smile on her lips. Her hands moved ceaselessly, gesticulating rapidly, meaninglessly, full of nervous energy. She radiated sincerity and a desperation, a swooping sort of desperation to cling to what we have that I am all too familiar with. It was a kind of desperation, a vulnerability that she never reserved for me, and it made me choke up a little bit because it was nice, _so_ nice to be appreciated by her in return. I swallowed hard, hating how my eyes watered involuntarily, and then, before I could think of what I was doing, my fingers were on her lips, stilling their motion.

Lizzie blinked, not comprehending. Her lips were soft beneath my fingers, and I had a sudden urge to do something foolish, but I swallowed and managed to quash it. "Liz," I began, breaking out into a slow smile, "Of _**course**_ I want to. There's nothing I'd like more than spending the whole summer with you." There was no real reason for me to say no, even if I had wanted to because I didn't have anything better to do and didn't want to be stuck at home, bored out of my skull. It was true, but there were a few things which concerned me more, like getting together the necessary money, having cheap, comfortable places to stay, making the money last, and obtaining our parents' permission. Like Lizzie, I had a sinking feeling that we would wind up going to college in separate corners of the country, and I wanted to _savor_, to take advantage of the time I had left with her. More than anything, though, I was just glad she wanted to spend that last time with _me_.

There was another feeling, too; the niggling, disturbing thought in the back of my mind that I couldn't handle sharing a cheap motel room with her, a bathroom, or maybe even a bed, that being _that_ close to her for three and a half months, give or take, would drive me completely _flipping_ **insane**. Lizzie grinned and giggled happily, throwing her arms around me, pitching forward into my lap unintentionally. The weight and warmth of her in my arms reinforced the voice in the back of my head that told me this was a _very_ **bad** idea, but it felt good nonetheless. Her hair brushed against my face. "Oh, I'm so _glad_ you said yes, Edwin... I was worried," she murmured, twining her hands around the back of my neck, cheek resting against mine, relief heavy in her voice. I smiled, absently stroking her hair.

I sighed blissfully. "You know, I think this is the best present you've given me all day, Liz." I wasn't exaggerating either. She pulled just far enough away from me to smile back, fingers rubbing the back of my neck soothingly. We stayed like that for a long while, staring at each other in rapturous silence, probably too long, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. She shrugged, pulling away completely, and started to act more like the Lizzie I was used to, taking the brochures from me and with a single swipe, fanning them out across my lap.

The calendar had locations and travel days marked out, while the notebook contained a detailed travel itinerary. She showed me the brochures, explaining what we'd visit and how we'd get there, showing me routes on maps, handing me print-outs of places where we could stay, explaining the arrangements, which ranged from camping to staying with friends to staying with strangers to sleeping in hotels or holing up in cheap motels just off the highway. I listened to her words but hardly absorbed them, caught up in thinking of how the months would play out. The more I thought about the idea, the more uneasy I became with it.

Liz nudged me, frowning at me a bit. "Oh, Ed, you're not even listening!" she admonished, lightly smacking me in the chest, but she didn't sound too frustrated. I suppose she couldn't really be, given that it's my birthday and all. "I guess I'll finish explaining later," she said, brushing off her hands and dropping the papers in my lap with a soft thump. A moment later, she gave me an indulgent smile and shrugged, throwing an arm around me and leaning in towards me. "Well, it was either that or sexual favors," she quipped, lips quirking upwards as if it were a proper joke. Instead, it made me choke, and I half-wished she'd just given me the favors instead. I felt like I could use some sexual relief much more than a stressful vacation.

I forced myself to laugh a little, as if it were actually comical to me. Liz smiled at me. For the first time, I noticed the picture of the two of us that was currently resting on my coffee table. It was in an old engraved frame, no doubt something Lizzie had scavenged from the boxes in the corners of my room. The photo itself was a particularly nice, enlarged black and white print of the two of us at Prom last year. I couldn't remember if it had been taken at home or actually at the prom, but Lizzie and I both looked happier than I remembered us being in what felt like ages. Maybe it's because she was just a sister to me then, and I didn't have all these bothersome feelings confusing the hell out of me.

We hadn't gone together because that would be a bit unseemly. I'd set her up with the equally dateless Dan (much to Jamie's dismay), and she'd set me up to escort her friends Helen _and_ Danielle. Helen and I, I should add, dated for about two months when I was still getting over Michelle, and while she's a great person and everything, the fair-haired Helen is hardly my type. She's easily the most beautiful girl in school, but beautiful people have little need for personalities, so she's incredibly dull to me. I smiled at the frame, remembering how much fun that night had been, how we'd all but abandoned our dates to spend time together. Her dress, I recalled dimly, had been an icy, flattering blue.

Lizzie noticed I was glancing at the picture, and her smile widened accordingly. She reached towards it, getting caught up in her own memories. Then she shook her head and seemed to snap out of it. I gazed at her, somewhat confused, and Lizzie suddenly turned to look at me. A soft smile played at the corners of her lips, and, then, all of a sudden, she placed a hand on my face, splaying her fingers across my lower cheek and below my chin. She stared at me for a moment, seemingly sizing me up, and then jerked my head forward and to the side, bringing my lips against hers purposefully. She dragged her lips against mine languidly, lingering, tasting, exploring, enjoying. Her lips moved over mine sensually but almost hungrily, with a powerful intent behind it, and I found myself completely helpless to do anything but surrender, open my mouth, kiss her back as she was kissing me, just give in and enjoy and accept the moment for what it was. She tasted like that delicious lip-gloss, cherries and maple syrup, sweet and sticky.

As much as I hated to admit it, it was the best kiss I'd had all day. The incident with Sylvia had been a disappointment, to say the least, and the episode with Tanya was disgusting and unwanted, but this... this was... pretty damn close to _perfect_. After a long time, Lizzie drew back, our lips parting with a faint, moist smacking sound. Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked at me, regarding me with interest before demurely moving further away from me. She smiled bashfully, clearing her throat and looking away, almost as if she was regarding me differently. "Happy birthday, Edwin."

I blinked, rather dumbfounded. First of all, she'd just kissed me, and not as she had before at any time I could remember, not even when we were younger. That was no kiss a sister by any means ought to give her brother, and it kind of got me wondering if maybe Lizzie did want more... Of course, I quickly forgot that thought because it was absolutely ridiculous and utterly illogical, not even worth considering. I fought the strong urge to ask her why she did that, knowing I would never be satisfied with her answer, if indeed she chose to give me one. Instead, I just figured it was her way of saying "happy birthday" or something equally inane... and then again, maybe she just likes kissing me. I don't suck at that, you know.

Liz looked down and wiped off the smudged lip-gloss at the corners of her mouth. I took her cue and did the same with the back of my hand, pretending it was less of a big deal than it really was. I closed my eyes and had a sudden flash of her moving over me on the couch but forced myself to blink it back and shake it off. It didn't quite work. "Oh, that reminds me!" Lizzie exclaimed suddenly. "I have something to show you." She bent down to pick something up, giving me a nice view of her ass. When she came back up, she was holding a piece of paper and waving it in the air. "New love letter," she proclaimed gleefully.

I fought the urge to groan, not really wanting to hear my own words dissected and laughed at. I barely remembered what I'd written in that last letter, and I doubted any of it was very good. I'd written it a while ago, when the shower incident was still fresh in my mind, and some of my frustration had doubtlessly spilled over into it. "This is gonna be good," Lizzie told me, scooting closer to me, clutching the letter. I relaxed a little because she looked so excited, and at least the letters made her happy. She began to read, frowning a little bit at first, "I know you don't give a damn about me, and that these little letters are seemingly meaningless to you. I won't bother to delude myself into believing you even wonder who I am." I winced; I'd forgotten that I'd been so harsh and uncaring in my letter.

Liz blinked, shocked, and I felt bad for bruising her ego so much. Nevertheless, Lizzie continued reading, "I'm not a stalker, though, and I'm not as pathetic as I sound in these letters, I promise. I'm just... not very good at this." She laughed at that. "_No_ kidding." I nodded, somewhat pained. It was torture, hearing my own words thrown back at me like that, but at least Lizzie didn't look like a wounded animal anymore. She smiled wryly, impressed by the honesty. "You know, for a secret admirer, he has a surprising amount of balls. Wonder why he just doesn't _tell _me if he's got the audacity to say half of this stuff," Lizzie remarked. I rolled my eyes, knowing full well why. Jamie doesn't have half the guts I do because I can say pretty much anything to Lizzie (and, were I really Lizzie's idiotic admirer, I would have no qualms telling her or showing her, but I'm not), and he worries too much about staying on her good side. When you're really close to someone, you can take liberties with them, you know, say whatever you want to. You don't have to be nice to them.

She leaned into me, and I forced myself not to read over her shoulder. "Because what may seem to you so _meaningless_ actually means a hell of a lot to me," she read, pausing for a long time, letting the sentence ring in her head. Her lips were pursed in contemplation, a mask of confusion over her features. That sentence I'd written with a particular force and driving frustration. It was close to my heart and mind because, well, some of the things she does—okay, all of the things she does—so casually get to me. She can just go through life not remembering and not thinking about it, but I can't because _I'm_ stuck with the memories. "It's hardly easy for me to write to you, yet I persist, hoping I'll see some slight change in your demeanor." That was a vast understatement. Jamie doesn't quite realize how impossible it is, writing a love letter to your sister. It's hard and unpleasant and not even remotely gratifying because I get nothing out of this.

Lizzie was making a face again, but I didn't really care. It wasn't like I was the one depending on these letters, and Jamie's a moron to think that a stunt like this would attract Lizzie's attentions. This is Lizzie we're talking about here, not Casey; Lizzie prefers the direct approach. "Honestly, I don't care if you get a laugh out of my letters. It's worth it to me if these stupid notes even make you crack a tiny smile, let alone let the beautiful sound of your laughter loose so that the rest of the world can hear it." Then the most unexpected thing happened; Lizzie started laughing. It was a beautiful sound. Sadly, she wasn't supposed to laugh at that part, since that was me attempting to be smooth, but I hadn't been lying. It was worth it to me to hear her laugh, to watch her throw her head back, to laugh so hard that she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes (which she did, incidentally).

Strangely, she continued smiling, and her smile even widened as she read the words I'd jotted down hurriedly in a fit of rage and passion. "I respect and admire you more than any other woman I know, and I want you to be happy, even if it's at my expense," she read, raising her eyebrows in amazement. She turned to give me a stunned look, like she couldn't believe anyone would unselfishly want her happy at his own expense. I found that ironic because, to me, that was the sincerest part of the letter, the part that felt the least like I was pretending because I'd meant it all. Lizzie's lips quirked upwards, the amusement becoming more pronounced on her face as she continued to recite my own words back to me.

"So I'm not going to bother with a love poem because God knows I'd be worse at that than I am at this." She let out a giggle, and I agreed silently, happy she didn't expect the romantic poetry that I fail at writing. "And I'm not going to wax rhapsodic on your appearance, or what I imagine your skin to feel like, or what I imagine you..." Liz trailed off, squinting at the piece of paper. I'd either stopped writing there or else had crossed out what I'd written; either way I knew what I was thinking then had been inappropriate and sexual. I didn't need to imagine, though, because I knew almost everything.

Lizzie's eyes widened as she started to read the next part. She clutched the paper tightly, eyes intent. "And I'm not going to tell you what I'd _like_ to do to you, what I could do to you, and how you'd _feel_ afterwards," she drawled in a voice that was low, husky, and filled with wonder and imagination. She looked a bit flushed afterwards, and I felt pretty proud of myself for being able to affect her in that way. Jamie never had and never would. "I don't want to embarrass the both of us or creep you out, and besides, I don't think I could ever do my dreams justice in words... They wouldn't be good enough or _real_ enough to touch you," she finished breathlessly.

I snorted as Lizzie fanned her face, trying to act casual and unaffected. I saw right through her and took a certain smugness in it, in knowing that it was me who had her flustered. "Well, aren't we all hot and bothered, Liz? I can't believe it... A guy who can't even tell you how he feels in person, a guy who you wouldn't recognize on the street, has _you_ all worked up. Gee, Liz, it doesn't take much more than a couple words to turn you on, does it?" I teased, enjoying turning the tables on her for once.

Liz scowled at me and punched me hard in the stomach, almost knocking the wind out of me. "You're one to talk, Ed!" she retorted. I gave her a look. Really, Liz, we're going to go there? "Just about _anything_ turns you on!" Especially you, I couldn't help but think.

There's really no arguing with her there. Even innocent touches have turned into torture for me now. "Of course it does, Lizzie! I'm a teenage **guy**, and I haven't had sex in over a year!" I found myself shouting. Lizzie pulled her head back, blinking at me in surprise. She doesn't understand what it's like to be a guy, what it's like to be aroused and have everyone know it, to have this little bit of control over your body, and she's never had sex, so she doesn't know what it's like to miss it. I sighed, forcing myself to take a deep breath. "So, why'd you read that to me, Liz? Did you want me to join in on the laughter or were you just bragging?" I asked much more calmly.

Liz gave me a skeptical look but shook it off a moment later. "Please, Ed, you know I share _everything _with you," she remarked, lightly hitting my arm. Her eyes lit up with the excitement that can only come from doing something she's never done before. Lizzie loves trying new things, and I hate it. I stick to my routines, and I'd be lost without them. The mischievous smile on her lips and the look in her eyes told me she was plotting something devious. "But, no, silly... Now that you mention it, I just got a great idea! I want you to help me write to him," she informed me.

What is this, dating for socially-retarded people? Now both of the morons expect me to help them?! And Lizzie's going to write letters to someone she thinks is a secret admirer, but he's really me, and I'm doing it because Jamie asked me to do it. "ARE YOU FREAKING INSANE?! You don't even _know _this guy, Liz! He could be an axe-murderer!" I shouted, shaking her hard. Yes, I do realize that I'm talking about myself here. And I suppose I could've said "he could be your stepbrother" too, but that would kind of give it away, and, as the incident with Derek shows, it's pretty damn hard to explain. Then, of course, I would've had to add, so as to not give her false hope, and not the one you're in love with, the _other_ one.

Lizzie giggled, batting my arms away. "I saw that movie, you know. With Mike Myers. It's a funny movie, you know, for being about a serial killer. Only, see, the girlfriend isn't even the serial killer. It's her psycho friend. So as long as my mystery admirer doesn't have any crazy friends who are in love with him, I should be good," Lizzie replied with a grin. I gave her a dirty look. "Oh, Edwin, don't be so melodramatic... I've got to answer my fanmail. It's only right," she said jokingly as an amused smile passed over her face. I scowled at her and started to talk, but Lizzie waved it off. "Now, come on, Ed. You're going to help me write this letter, and then the both of us are going to pretty ourselves up and go out to dinner," she ordered, reaching down for a pen and piece of paper.

She set the paper on top of the notebook with our travel itinerary and handed me the pen. I saw that I didn't really have a choice in the manner but nonetheless gave her a weird look. After all, couldn't she write it herself? It wasn't like her hands were both broken. "I don't want him to recognize my handwriting," she said by means of a nonsensical explanation. Frankly, I was a bit more worried that she'd recognize my handwriting, but Lizzie ignored my qualms and motioned for me to begin dictating. "To my Secret Admirer..."

Sighing to myself, still wondering how I'd been roped into something so juvenile as being Lizzie's scribe, I unwillingly started to write what she said. I adopted a girly script, mimicking Lizzie's handwriting, which I know fairly well. "If you've got enough guts to write me a letter like the last one, why are you hiding behind your words? If, as you say, your words simply aren't powerful enough, why let them be the only impression I have of you and your passion?" Here Lizzie paused, allowing me to catch up and obviously thinking of where she could go from there. "The passion... that's another thing missing from your letters. They might not be meaningless to you, but empty declarations of flattery are worthless to me. There's no passion behind your words, not like there ought to be if you really do feel so strongly for me," she continued.

Lizzie was standing now and pacing, and it was hard for me to keep up with her. She paused, both in word and step, for barely a moment, clutching her hands. "If you do, then show it. Make me _feel_ the depth of your conviction," Liz demanded in a voice that was low and intense. I didn't know quite how to convey the sensuous undertone. Lizzie resumed pacing, waving her hands about. "You say little about your feelings and even less about yourself, and I doubt you'll even know how to receive this letter from me. It almost makes me think that you don't really care how I feel for you, that you're just going through the motions by writing these letters. All you want to do is get this out and say you've told me so you don't feel like such a coward." She said it so harshly that it felt more like a slap in the face than a love letter in return.

The reason why I write so little about my feelings for you is because I'm not _in_ love with you. I don't feel that way, and I've never been in love, so what can I possibly say about it? It's not like Jamie and I consult about this! He doesn't even see the letters I send you, which is, frankly, idiotic. I could be sabotaging him under his very nose, and he wouldn't even know it (the real question is, then, why am I not doing that?). I love you, Lizzie, obviously, but even if I wrote that, you'd think the secret admirer was a freak, and rightfully so. The reason why I don't say anything about myself is because I wasn't instructed to write about Jamie, and why should I? I don't really want you to fall for him either, but I suppose I could include details.

The problem is that they cease to be love letters when you write about yourself, and then they just become normal letters... unless I lie and say the things I know Lizzie wants to read. Wow, though, this is so screwed up. What, am I _trying_ to get my stepsister to fall for some edited version of **me** on paper or some poor paper slip of Jamie? That got me thinking... "You know what, Liz, I've changed my mind. Why are you running a good guy off like this? I mean, jeez, Lizzie, this letter will make him retreat into a cave for the rest of his life!" I told her, throwing down the note.

Liz turned to face me, a hand on her hip. "You're only saying that because you know this guy will never muster up the balls to face me, and you'd rather I date through letters than in person," she muttered somewhat irritably. I didn't argue with her because she was right. I'd rather have her date this guy, who wasn't quite real, who only existed on paper, who was safe and wouldn't hurt her, and, most importantly, was not Derek. I shrugged in response. Lizzie sighed. "I'm not that bad, you know, Ed. I just want to help this guy out..." I gave her a skeptical glance. "But I guess that's enough for one day..." she conceded.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "How exactly are you going to get this to him? You don't know who he is," I pointed out. I know, of course, but I'm not about to tell her that she can direct these dumb things to what, my locker? Am I expected to show these to Jamie? I don't really think he'd understand, not having seen my source material... Lizzie turned her eyes on me expectantly. I did not like that look.

"Why, Edwin, you're going to help me find out!" she told me. I glowered at her. This whole business of helping her is _really_ starting to get on my last nerve. For the love of Science, nothing would've happened if people didn't figure out how to do things on their own! The more people you involve in a given situation, the less results you get out of it. Lizzie gave me a look, plopping down next to me and nudging me with her shoulder. "But, Ed-_win_," she whined, sliding her hands down my shoulders and leaning in close so she could talk directly into my ear. "You love to snoop. Spying and playing detective is only, like, your favorite thing in the whole world," she continued, frowning slightly.

I do love to do research; I'll admit that, but this is too incriminating and unsatisfying for me. Why bother investigating something I'm already too tied up in? I shook my head, moving away from her. I did my best not to look at her because I knew if I did, I'd cave in like a mine without proper supports. "**No**, Lizzie, I have to draw the line somewhere, and this is where I'm drawing it," I maintained firmly, barely glancing at her. I forced myself to dwell on the reasons why not: because this is _too_ complicated and _too_ messed up, even for me! There's nothing simple or healthy about this family of ours, so that's saying quite a lot.

Lizzie threw me a look, like she completely didn't believe me. "I can count the number of times you've said that before. And you caved then too. Didn't you say that about changing Sebastian's diapers? And bathing him? And what about the time Oksana set you up with her niece from Odessa, you know, the crazy one... what was her name...?" Lizzie said pointedly. I made a face at her because I had capitulated on all of those things because I had no choice. This was a different matter, something I had control of, a distinction that was necessary to maintain.

Someone had to step in and help take care of Sebastian after Casey left for university and Derek became scarce. After Casey left, he started avoiding the house whenever possible. He threw himself into campus life, parties, games, classes, and drink, and rarely called or visited unless he needed his laundry done. Casey still stopped by those days and took over on weekends, but over time her visits decreased in frequency. With Mom and Dad so exhausted and busy working and Marti consumed with her own life, that left Lizzie, the nanny, and myself to do the brunt of the grunt work. Nora and Dad took care of them whenever they could, usually late at night.

"Zhenya. Her name was Zhenya," I bit out tersely. Lizzie giggled, remembering the incident. I scowled at her. Oksana's been our neighbor for years. I did a lot of chores for her when I was little, partly out of pity and partly to make up for Dad repeatedly running into her car, and Oksana's never forgotten that. As a single working mother of four, she really needed the help. She's done her best to repay me over the years by making me soup when I'm sick and babysitting if I can't, not to mention giving me an internship and then a job at her biotech firm. She also compelled her lazy eldest daughter, Svetlana, into being Sebastian's nanny for minimum wage until she flirted her way into an engagement with an oil tycoon from the old country.

Oksana, for whatever reason, adores me, and she's always talking about how what I need is a nice Ukrainian girl. She swears that a nice Ukrainian girl would appreciate me and treat me right, leading me to eventually marry, settle down, and raise a nice bunch of _dity_ (children) of my own. Oksana has no sons of her own, and she'd have set me up with one of her own daughters, but Bohdana's eleven, Lenka's a month older than Marti, and Aleksandra is halfway across the world on an exchange program studying tuberculosis. She's set me up with quite a few relatives, including several desperate but very attractive widows and cougars who were _more_ than willing... So just after I've sworn off women for a while, Oksana tells me about her cousin.

I was determined not to go, as Oksana, well-intentioned as she is, had set me up with more than my share of crazies (including _Tanya, _whom she knows as "that nice girl, Tatyana Ivanovna, from church!"). Besides, I was off dating, and I didn't want to bother with some girl who would only be here for a couple of weeks and probably barely spoke English. Nevertheless, Oksana went on and on about how she was unable to show her niece around because of her busy schedule, and how tragically beautiful her lovely niece was, and besides, poor, sweet Zheniya didn't know a _soul_ in London, and there was _no_ _one_ she trusted more than me to help her out because she knew I wouldn't take advantage of her niece (as I hadn't taken advantage of those desperate cougar friends of hers). She pleaded; she begged; she coerced me with bribes such as money for the date and lots and lots of cakes, and eventually I got so sick of it that I agreed to take the girl out.

As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and there were a few things Oksana neglected to mention to me, such as the fact that Zhenya wasn't quite as innocent as she'd heard. She was a bit too flirtatious for her own good and had joined an alarmingly fascist youth group. Furthermore, her parents hadn't sent Zhenya to visit her aunt as a reward for her good grades; they'd sent her there so that her aunt would straighten her out and get her back on the straight and narrow (and they also wanted to get her off of their hands). I went into the date expecting to be bored, but it wound up being anything but boring.

I also thought Tanya was bad, but Tanya's nothing compared to Zhenya. Zhenya dragged me halfway across town, hijacking my car and breaking over eighty traffic rules, then she attempted to go to a bar and get drunk with a fake i.d., and that's only half of the trouble she put me through. I think I was lucky to not get arrested as an accomplice. She also attempted to have her way with me in the bathroom at a convenience stop just off the highway. Don't get me wrong, Zhenya's probably one of the hottest girls I've ever seen, but by that point, it was evident that she had some sort of personality/mental disorder or lack of impulse control, and I knew hitting that would come back to bite me in the ass. A trucker with the runs interrupted that uncomfortable situation, and I was equal parts mortified and grateful. Basically, my point is that, as a result, I automatically reject any date Oksana offers me.

Lizzie was still laughing at me, and I was not amused. "Why do all the psychotic ones like me, Lizzie?" I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. Lizzie tried and failed to stifle a giggle, and I glowered at her. I leaned back into the couch. "God, I can't even _remember_ the last time a normal girl was interested in me. Why is my life so screwed up?" I sigh-mumbled, mostly to myself. Lizzie nodded, but she doesn't even realize how messed up my life really is. She only gets to see about a fourth of the crazy things that actually happen.

She shrugged, patting me on the shoulder. "It's the McDonald-Venturi curse. Our lives can never be simple. You know that," she told me frankly. I nodded wearily because it was true. None of us have normal lives, not really. Normal doesn't exist in this household. Some would say we're extraordinary, whereas others would bandy about the words "eccentric" and "dysfunctional" (and those are the _nice_ words). Liz quirked a smile, clapping me on the shoulder. "Now, come on, Ed, get up, slip into something super hot, and we'll go out for dinner," she encouraged, trying to pull me up with her. See, this is just one of many reasons why they say bad things about us.

"I'm not hot enough already?" I asked, giving her a look. I stood somewhat unwillingly, crossing my arms over my chest. Liz looked me over, from head to toe, in a way that made me feel more uncomfortable and more... titillated... than I should. I knew she didn't mean it in that way, that she was judging me with a purely critical eye, but it still... Liz rolled her eyes at me and leaned forward, slipping her fingers into my hair.

She tugged on the ends of my hair, causing me to bring my head up sharply, with a bit of grimace on my face. "Your hair could use some product," she informed me, tousling and releasing my hair. I groaned, rubbing my head. Unlike usual, she didn't even make a joke about my attractiveness. I pouted, but Lizzie ignored me and continued to scrutinize me objectively. Suddenly she came at me again, fingers flying down my shirt, unbuttoning the top buttons of my shirt. My heart raced, my head spun; I was breathless with surprise. Then Lizzie pulled away, as if it were nothing, once my shirt was almost halfway unbuttoned and popped the collar of my shirt affectionately. "Better," she muttered.

My head was still spinning from the suddenness of it all, and I had a strong desire to just rebutton my shirt. Lizzie practically danced away from me, holding up a finger. "Well, since that's as hot as you're apparently going to get, I'm going to go change and... freshen up a bit," Lizzie told me before prancing out my door. I put on some more hair-gel, securing my hair. I waited for her silently, sensing some strange sense of import behind this dinner. What Lizzie had said earlier left me feeling a bit insecure, so I turned off the TV and glanced in the screen at my reflection, which was warped and dark. Uncharacteristically, I found myself taking it for a bad omen of things to come.

Some would say my whole life is evidence of that fact, and they could very well be right. When Lizzie returned, I was intimidated to be going out with her. She'd reapplied her make-up to look even more stunning (fresh coat of lip-gloss, darker eye shadow, the works), and she'd changed into a short black skirt, slightly transparent tights, and knee-high black leather stomping boots. It struck me as both odd and suspicious that she wasn't wearing something more formal, but then she grabbed my hand and dragged me down the stairs, grabbing her purse and our coats. She insisted on driving, tying a blindfold over my eyes so I couldn't see where we were going.

We stopped some ten minutes later, and I heard Lizzie open the car door. I felt her hand fumble a little before her fingers found the release button to my seatbelt. Then Liz grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the seat, slamming the door behind me and locking the car. She linked an arm in mine and continued walking, stopping on the sidewalk directly in front of a house. It was oddly silent. She reached a hand behind me, carefully untying the blindfold. When I could see again, I found myself anticlimactically in front of Dan's house. I turned to look at Lizzie disbelievingly, but she said nothing and shoved me forward.

That was a none-too-subtle cue to climb up the stairs, walk across his porch, and open up the door. Maybe Lizzie had arranged for a potluck dinner or something... but there was a sneaking suspicion that convinced me I wouldn't like what was waiting for me behind the doors. Nevertheless, I rang the doorbell, Lizzie once again firmly affixed to my arm. I was greeted by a smiling Dan who threw open the door. The lights flicked on abruptly, and at that very moment, a whole horde of people screamed at the top of their lungs, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EDWIN!"

Amazingly, I didn't jump or scream or punch someone in the face. Instead, I turned to Lizzie for a fraction of a second and leveled the full force of my glare at her. If looks could kill, that one would've been more effective than cyanide. She was behind it all, of course, and she knows just how _freaking_ much I hate surprises. While I'm on the subject, I should also add that she knows I hate parties too, especially big parties. I also hate being made a spectacle of, and given that this horrid bash seemed to be accomplishing all three of these things at once, I already knew I wasn't going to like it. If I'd been at home, I would've been hiding in the Games Closet. Lizzie swallowed, a brief, anxious look flitting across her features before she glanced away. Nevertheless, I sucked in a breath and forced myself to smile like I was enjoying it and step into the damn room already.

I was immediately mobbed by people giving me birthday wishes, just like they had at school. Some of them were friends, but a lot of them were strangers. To be honest, I didn't even know the names or faces of at least half the people there, and only a fourth of the guests were people I actually conversed with on a semi-frequent basis. I looked to Dan for an explanation. He shrugged helplessly, pulling me away from hapless well-wishers. "Look, Ed, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be close friends only, but once Teddy heard my parents were out of town for the weekend... he kind of spread the word. And invited everyone within a hundred-mile-radius," he said apologetically.

I sighed, nodding, not at all surprised. Of course Teddy would take the opportunity to turn my birthday into a raging party. Dan's father is a computer programmer, and his mother is a television and film producer, which means they're loaded. Accordingly, Dan has a really nice, well-furnished house (in fact, his family owns several). His house is really big and spacious with state of the art entertainment systems and a fully-stocked liquor cabinet, making it the ideal locale for a party. Dan took the opportunity to lead me around the party and introduce me to people I didn't know, all of whom would promptly forget my name as I forgot theirs less than a moment later. There were far too many of them.

He's also got a pool table, air hockey table, and ping-pong table in his basement. As we were working the crowd, they turned the music on, though Dan was careful it didn't get too loud. He didn't want the police to break the party up on account of a noise violation. The table in the kitchen was stacked high with presents, half of which were shoddily wrapped and obviously bought two seconds in advance at a convenience store. There was a cake, Dan assured me, but they would bring it out later. At this point in the party, they didn't really even have the liquor going. Jimmy was at the bar making drinks, and he waved when he saw us before turning to work the girl to whom he was currently handing a fruity drink.

Basically, it was a slightly more upscale version of the typical high school or university party. I passed the time idly conversing with people, somewhat bothered that I couldn't seem to find hide nor hair of Lizzie in the crowd. In short, I was really freaking bored. Social situations exhaust me, what with the pretending to know people or care about their miserable little lives and listen to them when I really don't give a damn. I hate making pointless chit-chat and talking about superficial things with stupid people. I know that makes me sound self-centered and snobbish, but all of my friends were busy doing one thing or another for the most part, so it was kind of like being adrift in the sea or stuck on a deserted island. The only difference is that a deserted island has better company.

Then, about fifteen or thirty interminable minutes later (it's hard to tell, really, when you're bored stiff), someone burst in the front door. Some morons freaked out because they thought it was the police, shrieking and the like, but the person waved his hands in the air, smiling goofily. "Relax, guys! I've got a keg!" he exclaimed, brandishing the aforementioned keg proudly over his shoulder and flashing his i.d. There, in all of his golden-boy glory, was my big pain-in-the-ass brother. Derek looked like he'd made a special effort to look nice, carefully styling his hair, choosing a tight, flattering shirt, not something a mere delivery boy would wear. He walked in like he owned the place and promptly handed the keg to two minions, instructing them to put it in the basement.

Derek strutted through the room, asking where the cups were, recruiting people to serve the beer. He snapped his fingers, and the things Dan had been struggling with were immediately done. I watched him make his way through the party, meeting and greeting people my age, my grade with gusto, warm handshakes, and excellently feigned interest. Witness my brother, the social animal. He's got all the sinewy swagger of a jaguar, the regal pride and authoritative roar of a lion, the volatility of a tiger, quick to strike, the wickedly dangerous grin of a shark, the watchful, all-knowing eyes of a hawk, the stealth and agility of a cheetah, the venom of a cobra, the hungry, seductive presence of a wolf, and worst of all, the predatory air of a hunter (the killer instinct). He also has the unparalleled ability to piss me off in less than two seconds flat.

I wanted to unleash my wrath on some unimportant party-goer, but no one was wasted and annoying enough to merit the effort. All I could do was watch as Derek soaked up every last bit of attention like a sponge. He relished it, and he couldn't really help it. Attracting others, being the center of attention, the life of the party, that's just his nature. He can't help it, and that's the worst part. So my brother was mobbed by admirers male and female alike, all asking him questions about hockey and his future, about his teammates, the shampoo he uses. Derek smirked at them like a pro and rounded up pocketfuls of phone numbers hastily scribbled on available scraps of paper, completely forgetting the fact that it was his own brother's birthday.

I told myself I didn't have the right to be mad, really, because I didn't give a damn about most of these people or what they thought. I knew that behind most of those fake smiles, they were really thinking nasty things about me and my stepsister, judging me behind my back. It was my birthday, true, but this party... it's not what I want, and Derek could have the whole damn thing for all I care... but... inexplicably, I'm still freaking pissed. It doesn't make sense, this feeling like Derek's invading my territory, like he has _no_ right being here hanging out with my friends, my classmates, and even my enemies... I feel like he forfeited that right when he graduated, and university students going to high school parties is just so desperate because they're so old.

Yet my brother is the Guest of Honor at my own birthday party. He hasn't even come to speak to me, let alone look at me for all the time he's been here. He set up the keg and made the rounds, cheap, ubiquitous red plastic cup o' beer in hand, flirting with all of the girls and impressing all of the guys, showing me up. It's completely stupid because I shouldn't feel shown up. It's not like I was trying to impress any of these assholes. It's not like I want those skanks hanging on my every word. I don't want to _be_ Derek, you know, despite appearances and what everyone else thinks.

I'm a perfect mimic, sure. I can act just like he does, look just like he does, say the types of things he does, flirt and charm people like he does, move the way he does, smirk in _exactly_ the same way as he does, prank just as good as he can, and be just as vicious and hurtful as he is when he wants to be. It's not too hard, thinking like Derek, knowing just what to say, and anticipating what he'd do; he's more predictable than he this. I can posture and strut and smile for the audience; I can schmooze and flatter and taunt. I can flash that marquee grin of his, lower my voice to sound just like his, hold myself like he does, toss my hair like he does. I can pretend better than he can, even... but at the end of the day, I'm just pretending. The confidence, the cockiness, that all fades away, and I'm _me... _Edwin.

I just want to be happy, which is something I'm not sure Derek will ever be. Deep down, all Derek really is is that stupid Sad Clown painting. He keeps on acting and feigning and putting on a good show, acting like he's enjoying himself and being funny when he's really miserable on the inside. That's why I don't want to be Derek. All that he is, it's a carefully-constructed front, a cover, fake, a facade for his cowardice. He's a goddamn **hypocrite**, an unfilled promise, and if I was a chick and he wasn't my brother, that kind of might just break my heart. I can't respect that, how Derek is either too scared or too unable to get what he wants. That guy isn't the brother I know and fear/love.

That being said, I'm the one ticked off, sitting here drinking at the bar while my brother has the time of his life celebrating _my_ birthday. I wonder if he even remembers he has a brother, let alone that that's why he's here. I hate myself for resenting him so much when it's just who he is. I shouldn't care about this crap, but I do, and the drinking isn't helping me forget. I'm just so damn sick and tired of him always stealing the show, of him continuously taking these little things (or _everything_ that matters, really) from me and never even noticing because... it doesn't matter what he does. Even without doing anything, without trying, he still manages to take things away from me, like Lizzie, and I'm so damn tired of just accepting it.

I'm fed up with a lot of things, really, like this profound sense of dissatisfaction I have with my life. Or the constant competition/rivalry between Derek and me, which I can never seem to win, not even for a second. Or, worse still, the constant guilt I carry with me as a result of these nasty thoughts I've been having about Lizzie lately, the sick, awful hypocrisy that comes with denying this unwanted attraction. I've had it up to _here_ with the anger, the outrage of being gossiped about and insulted, of having every bastard at that school think I'm nailing my sister! It's awful being accused of something you're not doing. I'm sick of only crappy things happening to me, of having stalkers and weirdos be the only kind of women who are interested in me. And, damn it, more than anything, I'm done with this self-enforced celibacy BS because, right now, I want to grab the first girl I find, shove my tongue down her throat, bend her over a table, and screw her so hard I forget I even have a sister.

Speaking of my lovely sister, she seemed to have vanished like a ghost. I reached over, swiping the bottle while Jim was distracted, and decided to go ambling through the party to look for her. I was still lucid enough to walk mostly in a straight line and see and process properly, which meant I hadn't drank enough. I waited, though, scanning the rooms for just a glimpse of her. There were flashes of other friends, brief, quickly-forgotten conversations, but I only had eyes for her. Nevertheless, I wandered in circles around that damn house twice and didn't see her once. My ears pricked for any sound of her name, but I hadn't heard it mentioned even once all night.

It occurred to me that maybe Lizzie had hooked up with someone, but the idea seemed more that foolish, given that the only objects of her desire are apparently my brother and myself. I saw someone who I dimly registered as a friend and stopped him. "Have you seen Lizzie?" I drawled, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. She was the only person I actually wanted to spend my birthday with, and she'd lied to me about dinner and the party. I would've been content to just sit at home and watch Star Trek with her... plus, she's my sister, and I wouldn't be doing my job as her brother if I didn't look out for her.

The friend, Jeremy, I realized, shook his head. "I haven't seen her since she came in... But I did see Teddy going upstairs with some brunette," Jeremy told me. I scowled; the way he'd said it, the two were related! Teddy had shown interest in my sister before, and I worried instantly that he'd taken advantage of her in an inebriated state. Jeremy looked at me more closely and frowned at me, pulling away as if he could tell I'd had a few gulps. "You don't look good, man." His eyes flicked to the bottle in my hand, and he proceeded to attempt to pull it away from me. "Maybe you should lay off the booze, huh, Ed?" he suggested.

I shook my head. I wasn't that drunk, and if I had to sit and watch my brother soak up all of the spotlight, I was going to need more alcohol. I tightened my grip on the bottle until my knuckles were white. "If anyone needs a drink at this godforsaken party, it's me, damn it," I muttered irritably. Jeremy gave me a concerned look, attempting to reach out to me to calm me. He was probably having a good time, as I saw a moment later when his slightly inebriated girlfriend walked over and planted a big wet one on him, right in front of me. Cheryl and Jeremy aren't particularly physically demonstrative, or else we'd all throw up every time they were together.

Fortunately for me, that served as a diversion, allowing me to escape with my booze intact. Thank you, Cheryl. I glanced around and caught a glimpse of my ex-girlfriend. Of course Michelle would be here. She's Dan's neighbor, so it only makes sense that she's here. God, I hope she doesn't see me because then she'll just come over here and start bitching about Lizzie again. I turned so she wouldn't see me, but of course I'm not going to be that lucky. Michelle walked over and tapped me on the shoulder. "Hi... Happy birthday, Edwin," she said quietly, awkwardly.

I smiled tightly, turning around and holding the bottle behind my back. "Michelle," I said coolly. I'm really not in the mood for this, you know. A conversation with my ex-girlfriend can never end well, especially when she's been pitching a fit about my relationship with my stepsister. Michelle smiled faintly.

"So," she said, swinging her body around to come stand next to me. "Enjoying the party?" she asked a bit too hopefully. I threw her a dark look, and she promptly looked away, smile faltering. What does she want from me? Why is she still here, talking to me? She must have other friends here... there _are_ other guys here. She came at me again, and it felt a little like she was trying to be Sylvia. "So, is this just a private party or what?" she tried again, holding up the bottle (which was still firmly attached to my hand).

She didn't get much satisfaction when I didn't react, so I just shrugged. I figured if I ignored her, she might go away like I wanted her to do. Michelle sighed, grabbing my arm and turning me to face her. "Look, Edwin, I know I screwed up, okay?" I blinked, surprised by this new development. I would've brought the bottle to my lips for a desperately-needed drink, but I thought that would've been impolite in female company. Nevertheless, I nodded and let her go on. "I'm not going to say anything about Lizzie because we both know this is about more than that... and, for the record, I still think you're lying to yourself," she continued.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Michelle cut me off. I'm not lying to myself about anything, but I wasn't exactly telling Michelle or... everyone... the whole truth. "It's about what happened with you and me." Actually, no, I was more angry about what you said about my best friend. I've long ago made my peace with you breaking up with me for the possibility of a relationship with another guy. Michelle looked apologetic. "I... I _loved_ you, Edwin. So don't think that I broke up with you because I wanted an upgrade. I wanted you to be free to date whoever you wanted," she told me in a wavering voice. She wiped at the corners of her eyes, laughing weakly. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this," she attempted to joke.

While I'd like to say what she said changed things, it really didn't. When we were together, she'd never told me she loved me. In a way, I could almost believe what she said. She didn't really have reason to lie, after all, thinking me with another woman. The only feeling her sentiments stirred in me was that same, profound guilt. I pitied her; I hated myself for resenting her and holding these things against her for so long. In the end, though, what did that really change? "You left, and Lizzie was there for me. Regardless of how you felt about me, you hurt me. And this doesn't change that," I told her bluntly. I must've been a bit drunker than I thought I was if I admitted that out loud. It was odd, however, that I didn't call her on being a bitch to Lizzie, or that she didn't apologize for that (which had offended me most). It felt a lot like Lizzie was that heavy thing hanging in the air between us and preventing us from properly forgiving one another.

Michelle's eyes widened a little. "So that's how it happened?" Her voice was quiet, not accusing. She stared at me for a long time. I don't know why I didn't say anything. I wanted to, but I didn't really see the point in arguing with her. It's not like I enjoy correcting people all the time, constantly having to tell people that Lizzie's just my sister. "You have feelings for Lizzie," she said a moment later, kind of like it was a question, only it wasn't.

I shook my head no slowly. "Not the kind you think I have, Michelle. And nothing happened, not that that's any of your business... It's not like we hooked up or anything. She's just my sister, and she's always been my sister. You knew that," I told Michelle diffidently. Michelle gave me a look like she knew better, but I decided to cut to the chase, since I really wanted to take a swig but was unable to do so in her presence. "So, why don't you tell me what you want, Mitch?" I demanded, rising to my full height and staring her down. I hoped she felt more uncomfortable than I did.

Michelle looked at me for a long while and then shook her head, quickly turning away. "I don't know _what_ I was thinking," she muttered, moving to leave. Nor do I, you crazy woman. She whirled around to give me a last look. "I'll... see you around, Edwin. Have a great birthday," she said with finality. Her voice was dull, almost sarcastic. Then she left, and I celebrated by taking a generous swig of the bottle in my hand. It burned going down, but God, it was good. I'm a bit of a masochist, obviously, but it really does take some of the edge off. After that, I decided to forget Lizzie and try and find Sylvia. Maybe I could convince her to kiss me (and if that failed, plant one on her and blame it on the alcohol)...

At that point, I glanced across the room and finally found her. It looked like someone had hiked up her skirt and pulled down her shirt, because I was seeing quite a bit more of Lizzie than I had before. The sight was just short of indecent, and I knew why, of course, because I was looking straight at the reason: Derek. Lizzie was in the circle of people surrounding him, eagerly absorbing his every last word as if they were drops of honey falling from his lips. There was a particularly rapturous look on her face. She stood there kind of dreamily, eyes half-lidded, fingers splayed across her throat and cleavage, other arm tucked under her breasts. It was a deliberately indeliberate sensuous gesture.

Her hair was tousled, and I found myself hoping it was just like that because Derek had ruffled her hair. From the look of her, she'd probably had a little something to drink. That sent a current of alarm through my body, since Lizzie tends to get touchy-feely when she's slightly inebriated, and if she tried to seduce me, I could only imagine what she'd do when presented with the real thing. The alarm turned to outright worry and determination to stop it.

A moment later, she laughed a little too loudly at something Derek said, moving closer to him. The whole damn thing made me sick to my stomach, and not in the usual way that had me popping Tums from worry, in the way where I entertained the disgusting thought that something could actually come over it and pictured them together, barely suppressing the urge to vomit. I hadn't seen her eyes sparkle like that in a long while, and I watched the way she contented herself with staring after Derek longingly. It was so damn pathetic that it physically hurt to watch her make such a fool of herself. I wanted badly to look away, but I found it impossible to do so, to cover my eyes without peering between my fingers. Her eyes distractedly flicked from place to place, body part to body part, a certain hunger in her stare; Derek, fortunately, didn't notice. The entire scene made my hackles rise.

I had barely spoken to Lizzie all night, excluding our talk before the party. Don't get me wrong, I understand that my lovely sister could probably use some time away from me (and vice-versa)... but I hardly expected her to completely ignore me at the birthday party multiple people have told me in passing that she single-handedly organized for me (it reeks of Derek's sixteenth: redux, in my opinion). Like I said earlier, all I really wanted to do was hang out with her and a couple more friends. I have no use for this elaborate party or for my brother's blandishments and bragging.

Her shirt was falling off of one of her shoulders, but Lizzie didn't care to adjust it. She was stupidly carefree and too pretty for her own good, the perfect picture of innocence and seduction simmering beneath the surface. I had a sudden primitive urge to go over there and physically drag her away from him. The more I watched, the more my eyes burned from the sight. The desire to be a caveman, go over there, and hoist her over my shoulder strengthened, becoming an increasingly good option to my addled brains. Still, I managed to stifle it by reminding myself that Lizzie would be none-too-happy, and such a move was best reserved for an emergency... which would inevitably occur later on, after Lizzie's got a few more drinks in her.

I watched with a dull, sick fascination as Lizzie made her way towards him slowly, weaving through his inner circle. She was flirting in just the right way, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. Her hips swayed more than normal, conjuring up images of the ever-tantalizing forbidden fruit swinging from the tree branch towards you almost mockingly (if fruit can mock). Cringing at the thought, I took another swig of the bottle. The liquor burned my throat all the way down like a trail of fire, and I thought grimly that I deserved it. It made my eyes blur and my throat dry and thirsty, so I drank a little more. Admittedly, I was probably staring unattractively like some kind of slaw-jawed yokel, but I really didn't have anything to do. It wasn't unusual because I was far from being the most inebriated person in the room.

Like Derek, I was blessed (or in this case, cursed) with a ridiculously high alcohol tolerance. The alcohol wasn't quite blurring the sharp edges of my brain near enough, but it had blunted some of my perception. Unfortunately, it had the side-effect of causing me to fixate on Lizzie, to watch her with greedy, bleary, drunken eyes. Lizzie moved towards my brother like a lioness moving in for the kill, smiling and placing her hand on his upper arm. She started to say something, but by that point I was already halfway across the room. I gave her a dirty look and started to pull her away from Derek before she said something she'd regret later. "Dere-k... I need to borrow Lizzie for a minute," I told him, making sure to flash him the very sleazy wink he's perfected over the years.

I watched as the expression on Derek's face changed into something completely puzzling. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say his face fell, that he scowled just a little bit. I was scrutinizing his features for any hint towards his feelings for Lizzie or his possible awareness of her feelings. What I found there neither alarmed nor relieved me; a brief, uncertain expression, then his festive poker face was firmly in place once again. In fact, I was so busy watching Derek's face that I failed to notice as Liz reached back up, shooting me a very peeved look, and ramming her elbow into my side. It was a move she'd learned courtesy of that self defense class she'd taken when she was barely fifteen, and it was a vicious hook to the gut. The air whooshed out of me, and I gasped in pain, rubbing the area and staring at her through betrayed eyes. I tried my best not to double over but found myself half hunched over nonetheless.

Right hand firmly on her hip, Liz scowled at me. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, you Neanderthal?!" she hissed, brushing herself off as if I were diseased. Her traitorous eyes found Derek and followed him around the room. There was an utterly bewitched look in her eyes once she stopped looking at me (of course). The truly sad thing is that I'm not even sure she knew she was staring. Once again Derek didn't notice he was the target of her starry-eyed stare; he saw us out of the corner of his eye and gave me an odd look but went back to entertaining my guests. He didn't look as uncomfortable as he had for that brief second, and I wondered why. I glanced around the party, concerned that we were making a scene, but very few people seemed to be paying attention to us.

Still rubbing my side, I managed to rise to my full height. I wanted something to lord over to her, and physical intimidation, while seldom used and hardly something I'm comfortable with, would have to do. "Making a scene at my birthday party," I retorted quietly, giving her a knowing look. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me and just stopped short of snorting. Her left hand joined the other one on the opposite hip. She adjusted her stance better to hold her ground, legs spread apart, crouching a little at the hips, ready to meet me head on. She raised her eyebrows as if to challenge me, and as I met her stare, I silently accepted the challenge.

As subtly and swiftly as I could, I rushed towards her, reaching out to grab her wrists in one hand. I dug my heels in and tried to pull her backwards, but Lizzie gritted her teeth and barely moved an inch. She's still stronger than me, and I had a relatively fragile glass bottle in the other hand. I renewed my force, allowing myself to come close enough to her to say, "Getting you away from my brother before you publicly humiliate yourself." Liz stiffened reflexively and gave me a look that could freeze magma, but I was unaffected. I tightened my grip on her wrists, focusing my limited strength on pulling her in towards me. I clenched her struggling wrists together, grip bruising and white-knuckled. I turned my head to whisper into her ear, "You've got to stop hanging on his every word, or else _everyone_ will know you're into him." My lips accidentally brushed against her cheek and ear, and it was a warning.

She started a little every time that happened, and I couldn't blame her. My voice was too low, and every time I shifted, I brushed against her... deliberately, like I enjoyed it, like we were playing some kind of twisted game. She shimmied unintentionally, trying to work against me, but she wound up sliding the full length of her body against mine time after time. I was slightly intoxicated, drunk on the moment, using unnecessary force, unbearably horny, and invading her personal space. She was right to worry; hell, I was worried for my own sanity! The alcohol then had started to filter slowly into my consciousness so that the uninhibited actions as a result of my consumption seemed wholly natural and instinctive. There was only that desire to get closer to her.

My words made her freeze, shoulders together, muscles tensed and ready for flight, spine straight as a ruler. Her body, normally a weapon, seemed fragile and pinned. She didn't move but stood there, stock still, hunched and wavering a little. She seemed to be thinking of something to say, only her tongue was thick in her mouth, and when she spoke, the words came out more slowly than usual. "Does it matter?" she said in a weak sort of voice, timidly meeting my gaze. She loosened up a bit, leaning in towards me with an unexpected swiftness. "The only real difference is that they all think I'm into _you_!" she spat accusingly. Her tone that implied that perhaps I was doing this because I didn't want people to think she was into the _other_ Venturi, that I needed this for some stupid kind of ego boost, and it made me see Mars.

Liz foolishly continued talking, her voice high and shrill in my ears, "...when Derek's clearly the more attr-" I didn't let her finish that sentence. I dropped the bottle of liquor, deciding that I no longer needed its services, and grabbed her roughly with both arms, pulling her even further away from the center of the party. By that point, people were beginning to look at us and whisper. Just perfect. Now people were going to think I was an abusive, irrational boyfriend, when I'm not even dating her. Brothers, you know, are allowed to abuse their sisters. It's practically their damn job, and I really don't think it's fair that I have to play both roles when I only signed on to be her brother and possible friend.

I'd dragged the struggling Lizzie about ten meters away when she stopped suddenly. She leaned back and then pushed forward, shoving me away and sending me sprawling into the people behind me. The person behind me grumbled and pushed me back towards Lizzie. "You don't **own** me, Edwin! I can do what I want," she shouted stubbornly, hands on her hips. By that point, we had quite an audience. I looked around, and it seemed as if everyone at the party was looking on with interest, speculating about us in stage whispers. I sent a fierce glare out at them before turning back to face the real problem.

What she'd said had hit me like a slap in the face. This visceral part of me had a problem with that blunt statement and a desire to cage her and lock her away from the world. I wanted to control her as much as her actions controlled me, and I wanted her to know I was doing it on purpose. I wanted to make her as freaking controlled by me as I am by her. Believe me, I know I don't own Lizzie, and that I (should) have no claim on her... but in some respects, I kind of do. Obviously I'm well aware I can't control her or stop her from doing much of anything, but it's irritating to constantly have this thrown in my face when everyone else thinks I've got this... magnetic pull with her. It's my responsibility to take care of her and look out for her best interests, and she's playing this one a little close to the vest for all concerned parties.

"And so can I, Liz," I rejoined in the same tone, putting my hand on her arm to still any motion. I placed my other hand on the dip between upper arm and forearm, fingers splaying around her elbow. Her eyes sparked blue lightning at me, and the look on her face dared me to try. It was a kind of mean look, the kind that reminded me she'd have me on the floor in a second if I pushed it any further. I didn't push further, but I didn't back down either.

Eventually, she tore her stare away from mine, wrenching her arm from my grasp. She then proceeded to brush past me, knocking into my shoulder hard. She stomped loudly away from me, heels clacking against the wooden floor in a fury that made Dan flinch. "**God**, Edwin! Why do you have to be such an _asshole?" _she snapped like a petulant child, arms crossed over her chest. Liz gave me one last, long, lingering glare before turning her head smugly, holding it high in the air, and not looking back. I gritted my teeth, trying to reign in the senseless rage, wishing I could control the hapless flood of neurotransmitters and hormones surging through me, but I only wound up chasing after her.

Unfortunately, the damnable woman happens to be second-place in the hundred-meter dash, so it was nearly impossible to keep up with her, and it took me all the air in my body just to get to a place where I could breathe. The chase was maddening; I saw her slim body briefly turn corners, caught the occasional glimpse or two, but I couldn't quite catch her. I couldn't get as close as I needed to. When the both of us finally stopped, I found myself behind her on Dan's wrap-around porch. It was chilly outside, and neither of us were wearing jackets. I could make out Lizzie's faintly shivering form further down the porch and bit my lip, wishing I had a jacket to give her. A little of my anger evaporated then, but Lizzie turned around slowly as I approached her.

One irritated look and a pair of crossing arms was all it took for my fury to return. "_Me_, an asshole?" I asked incredulously, waving a hand in the air unthinkingly. I scoffed, shooting her a disbelieving look because, really, what right did she have to be upset? "**You're** the one who just made a scene at my birthday party because I was trying to do you a favor!" The unamused expression on Lizzie's face did not change. She didn't look apologetic or willing to back down; she didn't even look grateful. Suddenly, the waves of rage just crashed over me harder, and I burned with the intensity of it. All this time I waste helping her, looking out for her, and she doesn't even appreciate it!

Two could play this game, I thought, so I turned to face her, leaning in a little too close for her comfort, and crossed my arms over my chest. "We both know you get touchy-feely when you're drunk, and I think it'd be really hard to explain to Derek why you're groping him," I continued bluntly. Yes, I went there. I wondered if this drunk Lizzie was any more aware of her nighttime exploits than the sober one was. She blinked in confusion and then, after a rather odd stretch of time, decided to slap me on the arm. It didn't even sting, though, because she was limp-wristed. I found myself grabbing her arms, hands sliding up them to rest around her upper arms, kind of pinning her in up against the railing.

At the time, though, I wasn't thinking of that. What I was thinking was _better me than Derek._ I was thinking that I'd rather suffer a million embarrassments, rather feel her rubbing against me than _think_ of her hands on my brother, rather force myself to turn her down than have her try her moves on Derek and ruin everything. I can handle it, and I don't really think Derek could... I wasn't about to trust Derek to do the right thing, even though I thought he would (but even that was only a hunch because maybe Derek actually might be desperate enough to take what he could get). He wouldn't handle it with kid gloves like he ought to because he didn't know how to handle Lizzie, and he'd wind up inadvertently hurting her. I thought of the way he'd make her feel: humiliated, depressed, hurt... Liz looked down anxiously. "Apparently, so do you." My grip slackened just a little bit.

"I do not," I muttered indignantly. I looked her square in the eyes, showing her she hadn't been able to make me ashamed. "I'm doing this to prevent you from going to my brother, like you attempt to do every time you're tired or drunk. Like some bizarre kind of sleepwalking," I continued matter-of-factly. Lizzie blinked at me, clearly confused. I didn't have the patience to put up with her naivety, feigned or real, and rolled my eyes at her.

She moved her shoulders in a futile attempt to get away from me. "What the hell are you talking about, Edwin?" she asked. She reached her hands up to try and push me away, but I was still holding on to her arms, so I just pulled her back to me. She pushed against me, writhing and hissing a little like an angry snake, suddenly irrationally furious. "I think you're just saying that because you're _jealous_. You want me here with you instead of in there with the man I love. Because you want me all to yourself. And just because he's your brother, and you've _always_ been jealous of him, always wanted to **be** him... because Derek is all that you wish you could be, and you'll never be him," Lizzie snapped in a sharp tangle of vicious words. The cruel insinuations cut right through me, down to the bone, and it hurt to hear that coming from her. The air I breathed in was cold like ice, and there was a bite in it that made my skin break out in goosebumps.

It sucks arguing with Lizzie because she knows all my weaknesses and sore spots, so she can hurt me with just a couple well-placed sentences. She knows I've got issues with Derek, that I'm tired of being compared to him and thought of as like him, and she knows it's my goal in life not to become Derek. _Jealous_, though, that was the one word that echoed in the back of my mind and tormented me. I was _not_ jealous. I didn't want to be **him**, damn it, or get the things he gets, but a little voice inside of me wondered if maybe she was right, if maybe I hadn't always been just a little bit jealous of him. But the part of me that contemplated that was a traitor because the thoughts of jealousy just led to other unpleasant, unwanted thoughts that painted my disapproval of Lizzie's love for my brother in a new, disturbing light.

And I didn't want to think of it that way, so I shook the thoughts free from my head vigorously. But, God, Lizzie had insinuated as much, hadn't she? She'd said I wanted to keep her to myself for selfish reasons, and I don't, really. I want Lizzie here with me so she doesn't make an ass out of herself and ruin everything. I personally don't think it's too selfish to want my sister and closest friend to myself for an evening, given that it's my birthday, and she's been ignoring me for the entire duration of this party. Oh, and not just that, because she's been ignoring me just like everyone else in favor of my elder brother. "Because what Derek wants, Derek gets," she continued in a sing-songy voice, taunting me, getting in my face.

That was enough to cause me to snap. I pushed her away from me, and she fell back into the railing. "And he even gets what he doesn't want! Like _your_ affections!" I roared, throwing my hands up in the air. The vicious, sparkling beady eyes dulled, and the wicked smile fell right off her face. I shook my head curtly, forcing myself to ignore the hurt look on her face. I was just being honest, and I wasn't really saying anything I hadn't said in the past. "No, if I'm jealous of him at all, it's because he always gets what _I_ want!" I snarled, suddenly startled by the horrifying realization that it was true. I froze, eyes wide, just beginning to think this over, when Lizzie moved, sensing my weakness.

She pushed herself off the railing and came towards me slowly. There was something about her then that suggested a predator, something feline and languid about her movements, or perhaps the slightly feral look in her eyes that reminded me of a cat playing with its food before eating it, batting it from paw to paw, pouncing on it, crushing the mouse's tiny little bones, before finally putting it out of its misery. I had a nasty suspicion that mouse would be me. She moved towards me, coming closer until our legs brushed. "Oh, cute... So does that mean you want _me_?" she drawled, letting out a little giggle, shooting me a look that was positively sinful. She laced her arms around my waist, sidling up until her body just barely pressed against mine. She raised an eyebrow and just looked at me, making sure I saw her lick her lips.

Then, as if that wasn't cruel enough, Liz leaned more of her weight into me, coming forward on to her toes. She then proceeded to bring our lower bodies into further contact. She pressed her pelvis against mine not quite lightly but not hard enough to be able to definitively state she was intentionally rubbing against me (but hard enough to be painful and uncomfortable, hard enough to _feel_). The point was clear; she wanted me to be able to feel her there, to remind me what would be Derek's if and when he lifted a finger. Her hipbones accidentally-on-purpose knocked into mine as a painful warning, judging by the maddening look in her eyes, and it hurt. Worse still, her hips shifted minutely every other second, seemingly unintentionally (but I knew better), causing her to rub against me in just the wrong-right way, dragging up or down a couple millimeters for all too brief, all too hot seconds. I could feel each and every infinitesimal movement afterwards in the shockwaves that crashed over me and made my muscles twitch involuntarily. If there is a hell, it's like this.

I felt like one long drag of her pelvis against mine would make me explode, that she was deliberately taunting me by not doing so. My pants were uncomfortably clingy, practically sticking to my skin, and even though it was chilly outside, I was sweating like I was walking through the desert. I was shivering for an entirely different reason, muscles stopping and jumping randomly, like reflexes or electrical currents. I had to grit my teeth and close my eyes in an attempt to get a hold of myself, but in a way that just made it worse because all I could do was focus on the sensitive area and those tiny sensations that felt like static electricity or flecks of white-hot lightning. I couldn't see her this way or know that she was my sister (so it was _wrong_), but I still knew in my bones, and I could still smell her and hear these little noises she made, like the sounds of her breathing or just the random sounds that issued from her lips.

Those brief little sounds almost sent me over the edge, so I forced my eyes open. I knew looking her in the eyes would be just as bad, if not worse because I could just picture the sexy, devious look in her eyes, the seductive, pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top, come-jump-my-bones-right-here-right-now, I-want-you-so-bad stare (and, given that I was already picturing it, which was almost enough to make me come unglued, I didn't need to see the real thing). However, I chanced a brief glance nonetheless and felt myself get harder in spite of myself. Her eyes were dark with the knowledge that she held power over me, that she could humiliate me if she so chose, but she "mercifully" decided not to, instead preferring to torture me slowly.

"Feels like you do," she murmured teasingly in a voice that was practically a moan as her hand fell from the back of my waist to my hip and then down the front of my thigh. "You didn't deny it..." And damn, I hadn't, but I was about to when she... She pressed against me harder on purpose, as if emphasizing the fact that she could feel that I was turned on, and rubbed against me a little longer than usual, which was enough to make me groan. As if this already didn't leave me breathless, her hand continued to skitter across and up my thigh to prove her point until the heel of her hand rested on the front of my pants, fingers splayed across my crotch, clutching but not moving.

I swallowed hard, and she smirked at me like a damn vixen. I wasn't incapable of speech. It's just, when you're that turned on, who really wants to talk? When you reach a certain point, it's time for a little less conversation and a little more action, to quote Derek. I wanted to say something to make her stop, but I'd physically lost the desire to attempt it. I knew that if I tried to speak, one of three things would invariably happen: 1. the words would come out wrong, 2. my voice would be far too raspy, 3. (worst of all) when you're talking, things tend to slip out, like laughter or tears or... well, you get the picture. Therefore, the less talking, the better.

She took her other hand and brought it down. Her fingers found the zipper with some unnecessary difficulty that, I was sure, was purely for my benefit. She glanced at me, tongue caressing her upper lip sensuously, as she toyed with the zipper, flicking the little handle up and down. The zipper didn't budge, but when I stopped squirming (visibly), Liz grew bored of playing with me and started to unzip my pants. She did this slowly, making sure to drag the zipper down, so that I felt bump after bump, each one leaving me more wound up and jittery. Then the tips of her fingers brushed the front of my boxers deliberately, her eyes intent and staring at me in utter fascination, and, God, I just wanted to feel her hands on my bare skin. I barely resisted the impulse to grab her hand and wrap it around me; my eyes damn near rolled back in my head at the mere thought alone. But her damn fingers lingered there, touching a little bit more but not near enough to satisfy me. And I almost lost it. I felt my body start to arch towards her, to lurch forward and complete the motion, but I bit down hard on my tongue and managed to hold myself back as best as I could.

"You couldn't want it any more if you tried, could you?" she taunted in a more callous voice. The way she said it, she was kind of marveling at it. I knew she was only acting like this because she was drunk, but I still had trouble believing this was my Lizzie, the same Lizzie who'd gone out of her way to be nice to me all day. Then her hand came down and grabbed me loosely through my boxers, and I just about jumped. The unexpected action almost made me explode, and oh, I wanted to... "Wow, a guy desperate enough to allow his stepsister to jack him off. You really need to get laid, don't you?" she remarked not quite meanly, fingers intentionally coming closer, tracing the fabric temptingly.

You really think I like this? Being at my stepsister's mercy, not wanting this but at the same time just wanting to end this? I wanted to scream at her, but I was afraid of opening my mouth. There was no telling what would come out. For not the first time, I found myself hating her, _really_ hating her. I swallowed hard. Something must've shown on my face because Liz made a face, shaking her head slowly. "Oh, I'm not offering. You're not getting off that easily," she muttered saucily, dismissing me. Her grip tightened nonetheless, and I think I may have groaned faintly because she really wasn't kidding. Nothing about this is easy, and I can't get off. Period.

She ground her pelvis against mine for one long, incredibly torturous second, like a mammal in estrus. She even shuddered a little bit as she did it, like she was enjoying it a little too much, and pulled away from me just a few millimeters until I felt like I could almost kind of breathe again. It was over, nonetheless, before I could even think of doing anything. In that moment I'd been wholly focused on keeping it together. I guess I must've looked afraid or something because I knew that if Lizzie was drunk enough to act like this (but not drunk enough to forget who she's talking to), she was probably drunk enough to do just about anything. I wondered if she'd remember this. Then she grinned at me, a tight, thin, wry little smile, shifting, and said nastily, "Relax, Edwin, I'm not _that_ far gone." Then, in a single, fluid motion, she released me and jerked her hand away from me.

I was simultaneously very relieved (but still horribly turned on) and extremely pissed off. My fingers fumbled to zip up my pants unthinkingly as I glanced around to see if anyone was watching. It was more than a little uncomfortable to zip up those pants and make sure nothing got stuck in the zipper, but it needed to be done, and I tried to steel myself with thoughts of grandmothers and Japanese game shows. Liz wore a victorious smirk and was silently gloating, and I wanted to make that smug grin drop right off her face. "Trust me, I know. Unlike that _other_ night when you were so drunk you thought I was Derek. But you know what, that doesn't even matter because you won't remember this tomorrow," I rejoined with bitterness as strong as strychnine.

Liz scowled and opened her mouth to say something belligerent, but we were interrupted by the door swinging open. "Hey, Edwin, there's cake waiting, and it's time for you to blow out your candles!" he exclaimed, jovially intoxicated. Then he looked at the two of us, clearly in the middle of something, and blinked. The expression on his face showed that damn suspicion that haunted me. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, looking straight at me. I couldn't very well say yes or else I'd have to explain, and it was really better off that he had. There was a dangerous current of anger underneath my skin, bubbling, churning, and burning slowly, flaring up to the surface like sunspots.

I sighed and shook my head, casting a brief glance at Lizzie before turning away and reluctantly following Dan into the house. Everything in me was telling me to stay to finish the damn argument because that was what I wanted to do, after all. I wanted to get something out. My body was itching for a fight, for some resolution, but my mind knew that would be a bad idea, that I didn't need something like that, and sometimes it was better just to leave it alone. Sure enough, there was a giant bright, obnoxiously yellow (like urine, jaundice, yellow fever, sulfur, mustard gas, and uranium oxide) and white cake with my name and eighteen large candles on it. I grabbed the nearest drink I could find and downed it in a single gulp.

People were standing around the party in circles and clusters, staring at me and the cake, transfixed. In the dim lighting of the party, it looked almost like a bonfire. Dan led me to it, smiling somewhat nervously. The drunken partygoers were singing loudly and off-key, slurring their words, with my brother, ironically, leading the chant like some kind of demented conductor. "Happy birthday, Dear Edward... Happy birthday to you!" I winced, once again irked at the familiar inability of people to call me by my name. Derek and I might not always (or ever) see eye to eye, but he at least manages to remember my name and say it right. Nevertheless, I sucked in a breath and then expelled it, surprisingly managing to blow out all of the candles except one.

I walked closer to the cake to blow out the lone lit candle, but Lizzie came around from behind me and stepped in front of me, cutting me off. She then bent down and blew out the candle, swiping some frosting off of the cake. She then proceeded to look straight at me, making sure to maintain eye-contact while she sucked the frosting off of her finger. She giggled and then offered me her icing-covered middle finger to taste. Other times I might've thought nothing of licking her finger, but tonight I saw the palpable enthusiasm of the crowd not drunk enough to forget we were stepsiblings and wondering if the rumors were true. I saw and felt them watching, and something in me sort of snapped, and I saw red.

Next thing I knew, I was digging into the cake with my fingers, grabbing a large hunk of it practically dripping with frosting. And then, in a flash, I was smashing the cake into Lizzie's shirt, smearing the frosting and grainy bits of cake across her cleavage, pushing the solid bits down into her bra without thinking of it. I grabbed more cake with my other hand and ground it into whatever part of her I could reach. At first Lizzie just stared at me in horror, letting out a tiny gasp, and then she instinctively grabbed some cake of her own and threw it at me. Her aim is much better than mine, what with her being an athlete and video game mistress. I, on the other hand, wasn't afraid of getting physical.

I grabbed chunks of cake and rubbed them across her clothes, sprinkled her with crumbs, smashed a piece into her hair. I held her face with one hand and smeared it with copious amounts of frosting. Lizzie grasped at bits of cake to throw at me and hit her targets, but the cake eventually just fell to the ground. Finally, I selected a large, pretty pristine hunk of cake and shoved it in her mouth. She gagged on it a little bit and swallowed some before spitting it out and charging me. She got up off of me and ground her heel into my chest, reaching for the rest of the cake, which she dropped on me. It felt like I'd just been hit by a sack of bricks, half in the face and half in the abdomen.

Somehow I managed to pull her down with me, and then we were wrestling in the cake, wriggling in the mush and putting on quite a show. Liz tried to get the upper hand by straddling me and pushing it a little to make me uncomfortable, but whenever she tried, I just picked up a handful of cake and shoved it in her face (as all brothers are wont to do at some point). She sputtered for breath, allowing me to regain control and well-needed sanity. Nevertheless, when she was underneath me, kicking and throwing cake on my face, my hand slipped a little lower than I intended while stuffing cake in her bra and under her shirt, packing it against the skin. My thumb grazed a nipple, and her breath hitched for the briefest of moments before I pulled my hand away as if burned.

Later, when her legs were like a vice around my waist and she was filling my orifices with cake mush, I pulled back the waistband on her tights and started dumping handful after handful of cake down them, underneath her skirt. I patted the area so that the cake pressed against the skin, and Lizzie's breath stopped for a minute, allowing me to force the cake out of my nose. Then Liz chuckled, low and deep in her throat and said, in a voice just low enough for me to hear, "This reminds me of that day Derek almost caught us on the couch." My head was practically at the same level as it had been then, and it was a sobering reminder that made me stop dead in my tracks. I rolled out from under her and stalked off, aroused all over again, and I didn't stop walking until I found the bar.

It was my eighteenth birthday, and there I was, miserable, horny as a goat, caked in sticky cake, not near drunk enough, essentially stuck at a party where no one remembered my name and I didn't even know half the guests. I'd been an object of scrutiny for a few moments because everyone thinks I'm screwing my sister, and I'm sure the cake wrestling (so normal for our family, by comparison) didn't help matters. My best friend slash sister alternatively ignored me for my brother, the real guest of honor, wound me up, and bitched at me. And my friends suck, and neither of my parents remembered or got me a present. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and shoot myself now; by this point, it'd be a lateral move.

So I drank and I drank and I drank, senselessly, ceaselessly. I tossed back shot after shot, letting the cool liquid trickled and slide down my throat. Whatever I drank tasted bitter and strong and left me a little breathless. Then there was the vodka running down my throat smooth and clear and tasteless as water. The back of my throat burned, and I felt good, numb, happier, more elemental. I drank until my senses blurred, and I had almost forgotten that entire awful party I was still at, for God knows what reason. There wasn't enough liquor in the world, however, to make me forget how much my life sucked, so I couldn't stop.

I looked around the room and saw Lizzie once again in a circle around Derek, actually talking to him, despite being coated in cake. Since I had a more effective process, Lizzie had about twice as much cake on her as I did. Annoyingly, she wasn't even trying to remove the cake. She just stood there, chatting with him, as if nothing were amiss, and I vaguely wanted to punch both of them in the face for that. Watching them made me sick to my stomach and embarrassed for her because she seemed so obvious to my trained eyes, but I knew she didn't want me to go over there. Damn it, this was one time I was going to listen to her, not that I really had a choice in the matter. If she wanted to make a fool of herself, then I was damn well going to let her. She'll be the one who has to face the consequences in the morning, and then she'll be begging me to come back and white knight her out of such situations.

But then again, Lizzie's never needed saving, mine or otherwise... and what if, God forbid, she wakes up with _Derek_ in the morning?! I mean, my brother's not exactly discriminating, especially once you get a few drinks in him... and Lizzie's hardly unattractive... and she is Casey's younger sister, and I'd imagine they _sort_ of look alike in the right light... Besides, when can anything Derek's said ever be trusted or taken at face value?! Why wouldn't he have sex with Lizzie too, even if she's drunk and pretty much throwing herself at him?

Since these sorts of thoughts were beginning to make me hyperventilate, I chased them down with a couple more long drags from the bottle and forced myself to stop watching. People were starting to get pleasantly blurry, and I suddenly realized I wanted to lie or sit down. So I finished the beverage in front of me heartily and stumbled to my feet. I turned to leave, when a very pretty, vaguely familiar blonde wedged her way in front of me. I blinked at her blearily and smiled in a way I thought was charming but was actually pretty seedy judging by how wasted I was. Her name was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to remember. I just remembered that it tickled a little.

I think she batted her eyelashes at me, flashing a mega-watt smile. "Hi, Edwin. How are you?" she drawled, putting her hand on my forearm. I let her hand stay there, too drunk to care, and grunted out some answer. I think I was saying things to her, but I don't really remember. She was sure nodding a lot, though, and acting like, for all intents and purposes, she was paying attention. And then I started to look at her, let my eyes run over her in very poorly concealed desire as I began to consider her... purely from an aesthetic standpoint of course, you see... She lit up under my gaze. The girl was hot, long limbs, big boobs, pretty face, shiny hair, and what was stopping me from going after that?

She giggled a lot, and that was only minorly annoying, and she was obviously into me... so why not? Why not have sex with her? What was really holding me back? My self-enforced celibacy pledge... which wasn't even anti-sex but anti-dating? I didn't have a girlfriend or anybody to disapprove, and I was so damn horny that just drinking in the sight of her was more than enough to get me halfway there already. I opened my mouth to say something crude, but she started speaking, flashing me a coy smile. "You. Me. Sex. What do you think?" she asked bluntly.

I thought it over for approximately one second. And then, well, I nodded, obviously thinking that was a good idea. Why not, after all? When does a girl proposition you, I ask you, when? I wasn't about to say no to that gracious offer. And then I think I said something like, "You'll do." to really sweeten the deal. Classy, I know, but she was paying attention to me. She was the only girl all night who'd really paid any kind of positive attention to me. And, damn it, after over a year of nothing, Lizzie's teasing, and a perpetual one-man show, I wanted to get freaking laid.

She took my hand and led me through the party; I let her lead. As I followed her to the stairs, I paused for a moment and found myself searching for Derek and Lizzie, but I saw neither of them. I blinked, trying futilely to stop my mind from jumping to such irrational conclusions, but then something inside of me hardened and fell into my stomach, heavy as a brick of gold. And I just wanted to forget all about that, to stop wondering, to stop thinking about my damn sister all the damn time.

The girl who was smiling at me like that and laughing like that was none of that. She was the polar opposite of my sister. She had shorter blonde hair that fell in ringlets, fairly long nails painted bright red, and different colored eyes, I think. Her features were more refined, more delicate, more beautiful. She was thin like a model, tall and willowy, graceful and feminine, unlike my sister. Oh, and, God, she practically dripped sex appeal, and not the wasted, worthless kind of a tease, but the real kind that you could touch and grab. Nevertheless, she lacked a certain dignity, a class that I'd been accustomed to, not that I minded if she was a little cheap and smelled different, too sweet like candy. Basically, she _isn't_ Lizzie, wasn't Lizzie, couldn't ever be Lizzie, and that was what I liked most about her.

She didn't taste like vodka; she tasted like cola and something else, tangy and sweet. It didn't burn to touch her or anything like that, and I didn't feel guilty for it. It was pleasant, though, because it was all very blurry to me, and I let myself get caught up in the feelings. All there was was the low thrum of pure pleasure in my body when she touched me, and I let myself ease into it, enjoy it a little. It felt good to enjoy this for a change, to not hate myself every time I felt this way, to not try and deny it at all costs.

And as we found a bedroom, and she started to pull off my clothes, I couldn't help but think that my traitorous sister wouldn't approve of this at all. And I kinda liked that, kind of got off on it a little more than I should have. Ooh, and I knew Lizzie would _hate _her, that she probably already did, that she made fun of girls like this, that I normally did too, but right then I didn't give a damn because she was good at all the important things, and that was all that mattered. And besides, I was still so furious, it was kind of like I was spiting her with each and every thrust. That felt best of all.

Loren ;*

Reviews equal love, m'dears. So if you love me or this story... gimme. Lol.

The next chapter concerns the repercussions of the aforementioned stupid action above. You get to find out who the girl is, and Edwin takes a walk of shame home only to find Lizzie... pissed? But why? An argument ensues... but how does it end? Incidentally, I really like the girl from next chapter.

And, yes, I am aware that there are currently only eleven Star Trek movies. However, the fourth movie is supposed to be due out in 2011... so, assuming C and D graduated in 2009, that puts this fic in at least 2012-2013-2014 somewhere. So I figure that the next movie will probably be out by the time of this fic.


	14. Decay

Well, several things. First of all, sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. Secondly, you obviously get to find out who Edwin slept with in this chapter. Third, I still am not fully satisfied with this chapter, but whatever. The one after this is also a little awkward for me at points, but I otherwise like it, especially content-wise and stuff like that. You get introduced to some other figures in Lizzie and Edwin's world, and you also learn a bit more about Lizzie, which is cool. And we're getting ever closer to the Christmas chapters (by my calculations three chapters away), which kind of set everything into motion. And that's cool because there's lots of family drama and interesting dynamics, and then you get to find out a bit more about the whole Derek/Casey business. Also, I apologize in advance for the science-y bit at the end because it is dreadfully confused, and you have no idea how hard it is to look up that stuff. Oy.

Oh, and to answer turtledove's question, since I technically am not allowed to answer anonymous reviews... Lizzie is not at all subtle. If she knew she was in love with Edwin, she'd pursue him with a lot more vigor, I assure you, and not just when she's out of her mind and has plausible deniability. You and Edwin would both know. ;) And, at this point, our girl isn't in love with Poor Ed, although he's happy to hear it, trust me! ;) And who's to say she will or won't be later? As for Derek and Casey, well, who says you'll ever find out _exactly_ what happened with them? ;)

Finally, as per usual, I do not own any of the characters depicted therein. I only own their characterizations, 'cause almost all of my characters were at least mentioned on the show.

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**Decay**: 1. The process through which organic materials decompose. 2. The process in which large and instable nuclei deteriorate into smaller atoms by emitting neutrons and/or radiation. 3. The quantum phenomenon in which certain elementary particles transform into other particles. 4. To lose a stored charge, magnetic flux, or current.

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I awoke with a splitting headache and bits of light streaming in my eyes. I groaned weakly and tried to turn my head when all of a sudden I realized that my entire body felt heavy and sore. My body wanted to sleep, but I was terribly uncomfortable, and I was forced to open my eyes, in too much pain to return to slumber. My brain was still in a fog, and I strained to remember how I'd gotten here. One look was sufficient enough for me to realize that the room I was currently sleeping in, a bedroom from the looks of it, wasn't my bedroom or even a room in my house. My mind struggled to recapture the night before; at first, it felt like trying to grab air, to touch wisps that fell through my fingers.

I'd slept in some odd position, half-twisted in the sheets, kind of on my side. And it had been a rough night; that goes without saying. My muscles sure felt it, as if I'd overextended or strained them. Then, when I blinked and attempted to sit up a little, it occurred to me that I was completely naked under the thin sheets of this stranger's bed. I greeted this disturbing realization with a reaction equivalent to a mild stroke, thrashing suddenly, trying to vault out of the bed and almost falling. Obviously, since I don't normally sleep naked, even when I'm black-out drunk, I connected the dots to infer that I _did_ get laid last night. I _was_ relieved, and I felt guilty for it because I didn't know who I'd been with the previous night. From what I remembered of the evening and the snatches of thought processes that came to me, it could've been **anyone**... and well, just the mere thought was enough to cause me a high level of alarm. This is not the normal teenage male's reaction to sex; I realize, but when have I ever been normal?

When I remember last night, most of what I remember involves Lizzie: that stunt she pulled on the porch, worrying about her and Derek, wrestling in cake with her, being completely furious at her, so it's understandable that I'd be worried come morning. I slowly tried to turn over in the bed, which was painful and uncomfortable to say the least. Something had latched on to my other arm, making it impossible for me to extricate myself from the situation swiftly, not that any of me was able to move much faster than a sloth at that moment. When I was finally able to turn my head, popping something as I did it, I almost ran into someone's head. A head covered in messy blonde hair. I determined quickly that my bedmate was a girl because the sheets had shifted enough to reveal a fairly feminine physique and skin too soft and hairless to belong to a guy (and, really, I would've had to be on the verge of alcohol poisoning to go to bed naked with a dude!).

So a girl, then, but _not_ Lizzie (or Sylvia), which in and of itself was a weight off my chest. The right thing to do, I knew, would be to stay until she woke up or else wake her up and then leave. Something about the girl was terribly familiar, and I had this awful feeling that I knew her somehow. Something in me was telling me to get up and get out and get back home. Still vacillating, I decided nothing and attempted to jerk my arm away from her. Unfortunately, when I tried to gently pull my arm away from her, she snuggled further into it, closer to me. Her head tilted towards me, and I caught my first glimpse at her face.

"Sonovabitch," I cursed not-quite-silently or in my head, and the sound was enough to wake her up. Tanya freaking Slutskaya. It came to me in flash after horrifying flash, bits and pieces of the night before. In graphic detail, gritty and unpleasant and fragmented. Each and every sliver of memory shamed me more. I was violently nauseous and thoroughly disgusted with the both of us, but mostly myself. It got to the point where I would've gnawed my arm off like a coyote to get away from her. The way I'm talking about it makes it sound like we did freakish, ungodly, disgusting things, but we didn't really even do anything kinky. The sex with Tanya, that was the freakish, ungodly, despicable thing.

Tanya, seeing the look on my face, frowned and blinked up at me sleepily. She moved closer to me, putting her hand on my shoulder and sliding it around to my back casually, more comfortable with touching me than I would have wished. "Mornin', Ed," she muttered a second before she leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine before I could stop her. I didn't respond. It was surprisingly soft and, well, decent, for Tanya. It could've possibly even been pleasant if I had any feelings for her other than disgust, dislike, and pity. Then her other hand snaked across my stomach and down, brushing over my thigh before grabbing me hard, and pulling a little. I groaned a little bit in pain but also because my traitorous body was perversely turned on by this, and Tanya took the opportunity to kiss me hard, tongue in my furry mouth. "One more for the road?" she asked hopefully, seductively, leaning in for another kiss.

Ordinarily this offer might be a bit more tempting, but I felt dirty all over and wanted her to get off of me. I reached down and pried her hand away from my genitals and then pushed her away. "Look, Tanya, I can't do this..." I told her honestly, looking her square in the eye. Tanya pouted, and I hastened to get out of bed but wound up tangled in the sheets and ended up falling out of the bed. And landing on my ass and clothes, very much naked. Tanya giggled at me and stared, and I think I was about as red as the whole planet of Mars at that point.

I stumbled to my feet, trying to pretend like I wasn't even half as embarrassed or ashamed as I was. It didn't work. Tanya was the only one who was actually enjoying this situation. I fumbled around with the clothes below me, trying to tug them on. "You don't have to get up so fast, you know. You can stay," Tanya said, beckoning to me. I shook my head no hard, and Tanya frowned, not comprehending. There's an odd simplicity about her. Tanya moved to sit up, wrapping an arm around her waist. A sensual figure she may be, lean and naked and pretty in an icy, pale sort of way, but she's not my type. "I had a great time last night, didn't you?" she continued, tilting her head back and staring at me with this look that I assume was meant to be alluring but instead gave me a headache.

Since I was torn between looking at Tanya and getting dressed, I wasn't dressing myself very well, and I was feeling more uncomfortable by the moment with her eyes on me like that. I tried in vain to think of something to say to discourage her, but I knew whatever I was going to say wouldn't be succinct enough or right enough for her to understand. "Tanya, you don't need to say anything. Please don't say anything," I instructed her, careful to keep all of the emotion out of my voice. A hint of pleading crept into my tone nonetheless as I struggled with pulling my stiff jeans up and over my legs.

Tanya nodded, and I thought that maybe we'd come to an agreement. "Of course." I was wrong. While I was attempting to zip up my jeans, I didn't see Tanya crawling across the bed. "You're right. Why waste time talking? There are _so _many better things we could be doing," she murmured huskily. I didn't realize what she was doing until she grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to her, kissing me messily. I pushed her weakly, leaving my pants stranded halfway down my legs. When that wasn't enough to separate us, I turned my head away from her and shoved her harder than I meant to, sending her backwards, further onto the bed.

I had to make myself very clear this time, and I'd taken it for granted that she'd understood what I'd meant. I took several large steps away from the bed and finished pulling up and zipping my pants. After that, I felt a whole lot more secure dealing with her, coming from a place of less vulnerability. "Tanya, that's not what I meant at all. I'm _really_ not interested in having sex with you. I need to get home," I replied tersely, eyes on the floor, hunting around for my shirt. I glanced up briefly and was greeted by the sight of a very much still naked Tanya, and, frankly, that was just a little too much Tanya for me. "For the **love** of God, Tanya, cover up." Didn't she have any shame?

Truthfully, I didn't really want to even look at Tanya because I remembered every time I did, so I tried to avoid it. Didn't she get the message by my urgency to dress, my continual habit of pushing her away, my strong desire to leave? I think she was pouting or something, but like I said, I didn't particularly care as long as she left me alone. "You're the only guy I've ever met to turn down sex," she remarked in a voice that was at the same time dismissive and disapproving. I shrugged, hardly paying attention to her. With all the experience I've had lately, resisting someone like Tanya is as easy as basic algebra. I've had practice with higher branches and harder forms of mathematics, so the creature comfort of someone such as Tanya is hardly tempting by comparison.

Predictably, she got frustrated that I wasn't paying attention to her. And, yes, I realize I'm acting like a total ass here, but I was hungover, still kind of pissed from the night before, and I didn't feel even remotely good. I was trying to be perfectly calm and emotionally neutral so that, among other things, she wouldn't attack me. To me, being completely unemotional seemed a logical response. If someone is ignoring you or not reacting when you bother them, you learn to stop because there's no gratification in it. Unfortunately for me, however, Tanya cannot be conditioned like one of Pavlov's dogs.

Tanya stalked over to me, grabbing my arm hard and turning me to face her abruptly. She'd surprisingly listened to me and wrapped a sheet around herself, much to my relief. But just as that had sunken in, she started talking, erasing the little progress we'd made. "**Look **at me, damn it!" she shouted, grabbing my face with her hand, forcing me to look at her. I didn't like what I saw; she was disheveled, emotional, and still that girl from last night. "Look, Venturi, you know I'm not much for talking, and I don't like this any more than you do, but we need to talk about it! You don't get to get away with giving me the _best_ night of my life and pretending like nothing happened. We had sex!" Tanya snapped brusquely, adjusting the sheet around her body.

I think I winced at that, her boldly admitting what had happened; it still mortified me to think of it. Graphic, disturbing flashes burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked. Her eyes bore into mine like acid or drills, unsettling me, making me further uncomfortable. She was giving me that look that said she knew exactly what I looked like naked and just... everything... and I remembered why I didn't do this very much. You don't always want a person you slept with to have that kind of knowledge of you. It's great and all in the moment, but then it's just awkward whenever you see them in the hallway because you start thinking about it.

Foolishly, I decided to be honest with her. Even more idiotically, I forgot who I was talking to and went with my sensitive instincts for talking to girls. You can't really talk to Tanya like she's a girl because she'll get the wrong idea. She's tough and even more of a tomboy than Lizzie, and she's definitely more aggressive than your average girl. One cannot afford to use subtlety with someone such as her. I knew this, and yet I let my conscience trick me. "Don't say that. Don't say it was the best night of your life, Tanya, because that's just not true, and you deserve better," I told her insistently because it was true. She didn't deserve a drunken mistake like last night to be the best night of her life, and I was so drunk I don't see how it could've been very good at all.

Pure and simple, I drank to cripple my central nervous system, so fine motor skills and impulse control were probably pretty much shot. Obviously my frontal lobe was completely incapacitated since I would've never made a decision that stupid sober. Tanya snorted loudly but looked at me as if I was some kind of precious treasure, as if it were adorable that I'd said that. "_Better_? I don't see how it could get much better. You kept me up all night... Five times is pretty _damn_ good, trust me. Any more and I think I'd die," Tanya retorted, sounding very much satisfied. On the one hand, it gratified my ego to hear my sexual prowess was up to par, especially from someone like Tanya, but she was probably remembering it as better than it really was.

A few awkward moments flashed in my mind's eye, and I had to swallow down the bile. Maybe Tanya had even dreamed up a version straight out of a porno that was much better than what had actually occurred. She was probably just saying that to butter me up because the odds of a feat like that actually happening, much less with a girl who personally repulsed me, were slim to none. From what I could remember, I had a very different, less pleasant memory of the night, although, really, if you think about it, sleeping with Tanya was probably the most satisfying thing that happened to me all that night. Tanya doesn't play games, after all, and she's no tease. What you see is what you get with her.

"Honestly, Tanya, I don't remember a lot of what happened last night. I was drunk out of my mind, and I'm sorry," I told her much more frankly. I didn't want to look at her as I said it, but her fingers were still resting on my chin and jawline, so I couldn't really look away. She didn't look down, but something flinty flashed in her eyes. I realized then that Tanya had blue eyes, like Lizzie, only hers were a different color, somehow brighter, more blue. I'd never looked before to notice this, and maybe, in a lot of ways, I'd never realized just how alike she and Lizzie really were.

To me, they've always been polar opposites. Lizzie has brown hair; Tanya has blonde. Lizzie's warm where Tanya's cold. Lizzie's friendly and popular where Tanya's isolated and combative. And I suppose that my bias against her, being forever on Lizzie's side, and this grudge I've had for years and years have stopped me from realizing their similarities. They're both athletic, tough, competitive, ridiculously beautiful in their own way, more aggressive than your typical girl, and attracted to me. They both prefer to wear loose clothes, both still maintain the vestiges of tomboyishness. They're built the same: lean, muscular, skinny, slightly above average height. They both have a kind of deceptive fragility about them, even though I know that both of them could kick my ass any day of the week. And they both have blue eyes.

And that's when it got even harder to be mean to Tanya because I knew I'd hate it if someone treated Lizzie like this. Suddenly, whenever I looked at Tanya, I saw Lizzie. Those damn eyes got to me, so I looked away, finally. Tanya was silent for a moment, and I wanted to say something more, but what could I possibly say? She seemed to have regained herself somewhat because when she spoke, she sounded self-assured as usual. "Just because you were drunk doesn't mean that you didn't know what you're doing. Come on, Edwin... I know you. You don't have sex with just anyone," Tanya pointed out stubbornly, tossing her hair. She spoke with a defiant intimacy that made me cringe and recoil.

I shook my head curtly. "Tanya, I was _wasted_. I was so drunk that I would've had sex with any girl who offered. It had been a long time, and I was horny. That's all it was, and it is what it is. I'm sorry about that, and I'm sorry I got your hopes up," I told her rather bluntly, needing desperately to end this conversation. It was shameful that I even had to have this conversation because I'm _not_ one of those guys. I shrugged my stiff shirt on and attempted to start buttoning it, but Tanya stood up and put her hands on my shoulders. I instinctively wanted to take one big step backwards.

She purposefully leaned in and looked me dead in the eyes, though I felt more than a little uncomfortable with the situation. Her hands played with my lapels. What she said next was obviously very difficult for her to say, but she didn't make it seem that way. Tanya's not much of a feelings person; she's more the type to give orders and just expect you to follow them. I don't know why she expected that might work on me since none of her tactics ever had, but I had sex with her last night, and I don't think either of us ever thought that was going to happen either... "Edwin, it meant something to me... and I know it meant something to you too. This, it's obviously been building up a while, so why keep fighting it?" Her voice was almost imploring.

There was a pang in my chest, hollow and tinny, when she said it meant something to her. Because she was all wrong about me; it didn't mean a thing to me, as I'd asserted earlier. She didn't seem to understand what I was saying at all, and it annoyed me because Tanya isn't stupid. She's just terribly pigheaded and refuses to see logic when it's right in front of her in black and white, but I guess Lizzie's like that too. I shook my head slowly, hoping she'd get the point better that way. I put my hands on her shoulders hesitantly and pushed her away lightly because I couldn't really think as clearly as I needed to with her looming there in my vision. "Tanya," I said slowly, taking care to enunciate to make my case even clearer, "I don't feel the same way you do, okay? I don't want the same things you do... It can't be anything. I'm sorry for what happened last night because it wasn't right, and it wasn't fair to you. I'm _sorry_ for using you, Tanya, because as much as I hate to admit it and like to think I'm a better man than that, that's what I did."

I said the words with the utmost care I could, sympathetically and trying to comfort her in some small way. I didn't take my hands off her shoulders, but maybe I should have. Maybe that misled her or confused her more, but if it did, it was unintentional. Tanya sighed, looking rather frustrated, and she knocked my hands off of her shoulders irritably. "Why _not_, Edwin? You're obviously attracted to me, or you wouldn't have slept with me. We have chemistry. You're the only guy at school who doesn't completely bore me," she pressed, giving me an expectant look. What she meant, though, was that I was the only guy in school who'd ever rejected her, and she only fixates on me because I'm unattainable, not at all interested, and her rival's brother. I wasn't particularly flattered by the sentiment.

An almost tortured look passed over her face. She seemed uncomfortable, almost unsure, and I glanced down and saw her wringing her hands. "And I actually _like_ you, you know?" she asked rhetorically in an kind of strangled voice. I saw immediately that it was true, and it made me feel all the more guilty. Tanya's beautiful and everything, but I feel for her what I feel for a pane of stained glass. It's pretty to look at, fragile, and colorful but completely transparent, one-dimensional, and cool to the touch. Perhaps I should have feelings for a girl like Tanya, and maybe I would if I were a normal guy, but I want something with a little more depth. And I couldn't really feel bad about that because it wasn't my fault. She's just not my type.

My lack of a reaction may have set her off a little more. She flung her hands in the air, gesturing angrily as her voice rose. Although her voice grew louder, she shrewdly used logic to make her argument, a value she knows I appreciate. Still, it wasn't enough for me. "You're not gay, and you're not a priest, so what's the problem here? I could be the girl for you, but you completely refuse to see it!" she shouted passionately, pointing and coming uncomfortably close to me, almost throwing herself in my face. For a moment, I contemplated whether she might be right, but I dismissed the idle thought without saying a word.

My silence and utter absence of any sort of reaction, not even my usual technique of denial, unnerved her. It was almost as if she fed off of my veneer of apathy and overcompensated for it by reacting more emotionally. She pushed herself against me in a mixture of wantonness and desperation. "Why _won't _you be with me? Why can't you be with me? What's stopping you from giving it a try?" she demanded, fisting my shirt in her hands. Her eyes were wide and an unearthly blue. I was momentarily surprised at the overwhelming femininity she displayed at that moment: the softness of her skin, the feel of her, the light, sweet scent of her, the girlish raspiness of her voice, the hurt in her eyes.

Since not reacting at all had only intensified her reaction, I attempted to be even more direct. "I don't have feelings for you, Tanya. I'm sorry," I told her shortly. It was the nicest way I could put it, and I hoped she'd understand what I meant because I didn't want to have to really hurt her. I'd never thought her feelings for me were this strong, this insistent. I'd always thought she viewed me as a kind of trophy she could hold above Lizzie's head.

She shook her head, giving me a dirty look. "I need a _reason_, Edwin, and that one sucks," she proclaimed in her typical blunt fashion. She drew back from me a little and took her hands off my shirt, purposefully smoothing over the creases she'd just made. She looked down and collected herself a little before regarding me coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just because you don't have feelings for me now doesn't mean you can never have feelings for me. So unless you give me a legitimate reason why you don't want me, I'm not going to let you get away," Tanya pointed out stubbornly. Her fingers tapped her arm impatiently as she waited for an answer.

I bit the inside of my cheek; Tanya had me there. Honestly, I didn't know what to say. I just knew that all of Tanya's various superficial charms would never be enough for me. I could never have real romantic feelings for Tanya, and even though it was still logically and technically a possibility, it was as good as impossible to me. Telling her anything other than the truth to save her feelings would only mislead her and cause the both of us undue frustration. I sighed heavily and tried to regain some of my dignity by successfully buttoning my shirt all the way up to the top. It was filler until I could think of something to say. "Look, Tanya... I just _know_, okay? I'm never going to feel that way about you. You're not my type," I told her perhaps too inconsiderately.

Tanya scoffed. "How do you know if you won't even give me a chance, Venturi?" she snapped bitterly. There was a nastiness to her features, a thinly-veiled rage threatening to bubble up to the surface. She paused a minute, a brief, terse minute, and when she did speak, practically spat her next words at me, "And what _is_ your type, Edwin? Brunettes?" She gave me an expectant, irritated look. Her voice was tinged with obvious jealousy, but I didn't really pause to consider why, and I should have. Her remark had taken me by surprise because I was foolish enough to think she'd gotten it.

After all, brunettes _are_ my type. I looked at her and said plainly, "Yes." Then I went back to searching for my socks and shoes. It was silly of me to think that would make her stop. Tanya followed me around the room, needling me with a commentary I didn't need. She said some things I don't remember, probably more of the same. It didn't matter to me because I wasn't listening, but then she pulled out the trump card.

"You know, Edwin," she said over my shoulder, "despite what everyone thinks of me and what everyone says about me behind my back, I'm not a whore." People, mainly rejected suitors and jealous girls she'd probably said nasty things to (only Tanya, unlike her persecutors, actually said these things to their _faces_. She usually said things that everyone else knew and that were generally true but that no one else had the guts to say), like to call her a slut. No one really questioned it, despite a lack of real evidence, because Tanya does have boyfriends from time to time and tends to be overly physically demonstrative. Plus there's the fact that Tanya is generally a prickly, blunt, rather unpleasant sort of person and accordingly doesn't have many people to stick with her and debunk the rumors.

Admittedly, I tended to agree with these people because Tanya had always thrown herself at me. I had no reason to think otherwise. The fact that I'd just had a drunken one-night stand with her didn't exactly repudiate the stereotype. I turned to look at Tanya, having found one of my shoes. "Last night... it was... You were my first, okay?" she admitted finally, almost shouting. That made me drop my shoe and stop dead in my tracks, slackjawed by her revelation. At first, I couldn't believe it, and, really, I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to be the kind of guy who did that, who took something like that from her. Ever since I lost my virginity at that stupid party to that girl I don't even remember, I made a vow to never do that to someone because it wasn't fair or ethical to either of us. As much as a lot of guys don't want to admit it, losing your virginity _does_ mean something, and not just that you're horny or biologically capable of and ready for procreation. Anyone who says it doesn't is lying.

And, to quote Britney Spears, "Oops! I did it again." I felt instantly horrible, perhaps even worse than I'd been feeling lately for my lewd and lascivious thoughts of Lizzie. That was a private thing, my personal cross to bear, not something that actually hurt anyone or anything other than my sanity. This was something else entirely, a lower plane of existence, something that challenged my idea of myself. I was dirt; I was scum; I was a bottom-feeder. I was deeply and terribly ashamed with myself. I was flooded with guilt, shame, and pity for her, and I had a sudden, desperate need to make it right in whatever way I could. As much as Tanya stood there like a woman made of stone, a cool Grecian goddess to be worshipped, I knew it meant more than she'd said.

"God, Tanya, I'm **so** sorry," I said, genuinely meaning it, reaching out for her, hesitantly putting my hand on her shoulder. I barely trusted myself to do that, and I didn't even feel like I could look myself in a mirror at that point. Tanya just blinked at me, too confused to formulate a response. From what I remembered (barely and not entirely cohesively) of the night before, it hadn't been at all like a girl's first time should be. We'd barely made it to the bedroom and only made it as far as the floor; we'd ripped each others' clothes off in a hurry. I remembered the desperation, the hot, demanding lust, the fierce, overwhelming desire pumping in my veins, the anger pulsing in me.

I hadn't been even remotely considerate. Foreplay had been ignored completely. It hadn't really been romantic at all; we'd kissed intermittently, but that was it. It had been awkward and uncomfortable, and our bodies weren't really in-sync at all. There was no rhythm. The first time had been over in less than ten minutes total, and there'd been little time for either of us to recover before I was at it again. I hadn't been gentle, but she hadn't been either. It horrified me to think of it at all, to try and piece together memories with this wretched knowledge hanging over me.

"You didn't deserve that for a first time. You deserved better than some drunken, bumbling idiot who couldn't even remember and didn't know what he was doing. You deserved to be with someone who cares about you, Tanya," I told her determinedly, rubbing her shoulder unintentionally. I forced myself to look her in the eyes. She deserved someone who wasn't ashamed to be with her, someone who wasn't ambivalent like me. I cleared my throat, wondering what I could possibly say because I didn't think anything would be good enough. "And I didn't act... like a good person should've. I took advantage of you; I led you on, and I used you. And I took something away from you that you can never get back, and Tanya, I'm _so_ sorry for that. I wish there was something I could do to fix what I did to you..." I admitted, even though it was hard.

Better to get all of my sins, all of my crimes out in the open. Telling her that didn't make me feel any less wretched because there was so much else I wasn't telling her, and what I held back was even worse. I might've been on the verge of tears then because I really did feel for Tanya, and I felt low, lower than the Dead Sea and just as dead. I wouldn't have wanted a guy like me near either of my sisters. Tanya blinked at me yet again in disbelief. "Are you crying?" I shook my head no and frantically, even more shamefully, tried to regain my composure.

Tanya huffed, almost grimacing like she was uncomfortable with my display of emotion, and hesitantly patted me on the shoulder. "Look, Ed, I get that you were sloshed and horny. And I'm not complaining, okay? 'Cause I was pretty damn sober, and you wouldn't have had sex with me otherwise. Trust me, I knew what I was doing. If anything, _I_ took advantage of you because you weren't in any position to make a decision," Tanya said matter-of-factly. I blinked in confusion; suddenly all of her sharp edges had come out again. For a moment, I hoped that maybe she was repulsed by my display of emotion.

I barely had time to think about any of that, let alone reconcile my very mixed feelings, because Tanya kept talking. She brushed my earnest concerns off like water. "I'm not some delicate little flower, okay, Venturi? I don't need soft music, mood lighting, and candles. And I had a good time, so forget that crap about you not knowing what you were doing. I don't regret it, and I'd do it over again the same way. Because it was _you_, and that was what mattered," Tanya informed me brusquely, defiantly. Her voice softened a bit with that last sentence, but there was a steely, determined resolve beneath her words. I had trouble believing that anyone could be so hard, but maybe I was wrong about Tanya.

Still, I felt like I had to apologize because, to me, it had been a more or less meaningless sexual encounter. What I remembered was furious and frenetic and hot but not in a good way. It was gritty and real and mindless and sticky. I had flashes of pounding into her without ceasing, harder and harder still, of touching her in places that shamed me, with no regard for her feelings or her reaction, even. I didn't remember how she felt because she was just a place-holder for someone else. I had been totally focused on my own pleasure, on getting out everything I needed to expel, purging all the feelings and tension that had built up inside of me for so long. Her cries I remembered, and it pained my ears to think about them because it sounded more like she was in pain than enjoying herself.

I remembered crashing into things, backs pressed against walls and doors, stumbling into furniture, knocking things over, her on me, bending her over backwards, me on her, her on me, completely out of my control. I'd been in the throes of something beyond me, even beyond me and Tanya. It wasn't sex or sleeping together or making love or any nice euphemism for the act of intercourse; it was screwing; it was _rutting_; it was brutal, hard, raw, primal, and animalistic. It had been rough and kind of... painful, and our bodies bent in ways I didn't think they could.

Looking at her, really looking at her, I saw for the first time that she had faint hand-shaped bruises on her wrists, her shoulders, the curve of her spine, vicious hickeys on her neck, and, I remembered, finger-shaped bruises on her hips. She bore these marks with pride and grace, but I was even more disgusted with myself. It sickened me to look at them, to see physical, visual proof of what I'd done to her. "I'm sorry I hurt you." I didn't leave out the if because obviously I _had_, probably in more ways than one.

Tanya, cool as ever, just shrugged it off. "It's okay," she told me honestly. Actually, she allowed herself a rare, self-satisfied smirk, like she was pleased with herself. "I'm a hockey player, Ed. You think I can't take a little pain? You think I don't like it rough?" she quipped with a bit of a chuckle. The statement mildly alarmed me, and I went over to the mirror in the room. Unbelievably, the bruises on my neck and shoulders (fortunately my shirt hid or diminished most of them, especially when I popped my color) looked even worse, like bite marks, almost infected, and they stung when I looked at them. I felt angry scratches ripple on my back. It was no wonder I'd felt like I'd been run-over by a truck. "I like it when a guy can hold his own, and it's not like I didn't leave my mark on you, Venturi. Besides, pain and pleasure go hand in hand, and last night was the best night of my life. I'm grateful I had the chance to enjoy it," Tanya elaborated, a decidedly wicked look flickering in her eyes.

I blinked at her. She sure wasn't talking like a virgin; she was speaking like a dominatrix! "Who are you, the Marquis de Sade?" I asked incredulously. Tanya just blinked at me, confused, for a moment, before ignoring my statement and coming towards me.

"So," she said, reaching for me, "where's my reason, Ed? Give me one good reason why you don't want to have sex with me, and "I'm not in the mood" isn't an answer because I know better." Tanya stared me down for a tense, long moment, waiting before pouncing like a panther. She smirked a little. "Let me guess... you don't have one, do you?" She practically radiated glee and had an air of proclaimed victory already.

There was only one way I could get out of this, and I knew what I had to say. But I didn't want to say it one bit because it was a lie (well, not _just_ because it was a lie but because it was something I was uncomfortable with). I didn't want to admit to something, much less something shameful, when it wasn't true. It was the best reason there was, though, the most believable, as much as I hated to acknowledge it. Even if I said it, there was still no guarantee that she'd leave me alone and let me go. And, worse still, at that point, I didn't have any other viable options. She'd backed me into a corner, and this was the only way out. "Because, Tanya," I blurted anxiously, "I'm in love with _Lizzie_!"

She gaped at me for a solid minute, and had I been viewing myself at that particular moment, I would've been gaping too. I watched her uncertainly, afraid of her reaction. It was, after all, the ultimate affront: choosing my stepsister and her chief rival over her, and that had to hurt. It didn't come out as dramatically as you'd think, and I wasn't really sure I was all that convincing at first, actually. But as the shock wore off, and she was able to close her mouth, it settled into her, kind of. She believed it readily, which was apparent by the crushed yet furious look on her face. I waited with bated breath for her to say something. When she finally did, it just about knocked me off my feet. "I **knew** it!" she exclaimed with an air of vindication, like she'd always known. She wasn't really surprised at all, I realized; she'd been surprised that I'd _told_ her, that I'd admitted it.

I swallowed uncomfortably, waiting for her to say something. Tanya didn't; she was obviously waiting for me to elaborate. Finally, when she saw I wasn't going to say anything, Tanya snapped, "Are you mute or something? That's **all** I get? No other explanation? You can't even string a sentence together after telling me the awful truth?" Her voice was quick and irritated. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't just make up some lie of a backstory for feelings I didn't have. And why did she care anyway? Why did she want more of a reaction? She didn't really want or need to know the nonexistent details.

I sighed, bending down and putting my shoes on. "What do you want from me, Tanya? My... feelings for Lizzie are absolutely none of your business. It's not exactly something I like to publicize, so I'm not just gonna stand here with you and share all the juicy details," I retorted defensively. This time it actually did sound convincing. I was weary, sick and tired of going around in circles with her. My headache just kept getting worse, and I was still there when all I wanted to do was go home, shower, sleep, and forget that this awful day had ever actually happened.

It was the first time I'd been needlessly mean to Tanya, but she'd really gotten on my nerves this time, and everyone knows Lizzie's a sore subject with me. Tanya placed her hands on her hips, glowering at me. She was suddenly very imposing, a fierce figure. "Well, considering you just told me you're in love with my nemesis, and I haven't kicked your ass... I think that makes it my business, Venturi. So why don't you tell me what makes Lizzie so _special_? Why her and not me?" Tanya persisted with a threatening tone in her voice. I knew the performance she expected me to put on, and I knew I'd nail it.

"Lizzie _gets_ me, okay? She knows me. She's my best friend in the whole world, my family, my partner-in-crime... my everything... and the _only_ person who's always stood by me. She's there for me, and I'm there for her. And, yeah, she's a lot more than that... she's beautiful and sexy and strong and caring and intelligent, and probably the most amazing person I've ever met. I respect and admire her a lot, and I'm grateful for all she's done for me. I couldn't imagine my life without her," I elucidated fiercely. I spat each word as if it were a bullet, but it was really meant with the deepest conviction. The truly sad thing was that I wasn't really lying at all; the only think I didn't necessarily think was true was that "my everything" part because it was cliché... and she means the world to me, but she's not my life.

Tanya winced almost as if stricken (only she wasn't enjoying it near as much). While she did look visibly upset, she maintained control over her emotions. "Jeez, don't try to spare my feelings, Ed," she grunted sarcastically. Just that small bit of information had been too much for her. A moment later, however, a little grin crossed her lips. "Pity she's a tease, though," she interjected with a faux innocent look on her features. She placed her hand then on my forearm, deliberately, and started rubbing my arm and giving me a decidedly suggestive look. "She'll never leave you satisfied," Tanya murmured tantalizingly, leaning forward.

Perhaps I'd never given Tanya quite enough credit and had always brushed her off as crazy, but she was certainly a surprise with these complete one-hundred-and-eighty degree revolutions. One moment she was downtrodden, the next desperate, another still hard and emotionless, the one after that seductive. She's a thoroughly perplexing female; that's for sure. She's hard as diamonds and wicked in a way, masochistic even, despite her fragile appearance. She's the meanest player in the league, but there's a shrewd mind underneath that antisocial personality, an eye for nuance. Either way, she was certainly correct about Lizzie and my relationship with her, but I'd already accepted it, so it didn't matter to me.

I shrugged, leaning in a bit further, and said, coolly, because I was pretty pissed at her taking that potshot at Lizzie, "Well, we can't all be like _you_, Slutskaya." Tanya looked a little uncomfortable, but she didn't back away. She continued to gaze back into my eyes defiantly, like some kind of feral animal. "Besides, why do you think I had sex with you, Tanya? I only slept with you because I was so mad at Lizzie for ignoring me all night that I couldn't see straight!" I barked. Tanya shrank back a little, looking genuinely wounded by that, and I guess she was right to be wounded because that was, more or less, the truth.

She wasn't a caged animal, though, Tanya. "You think I don't **know** that? That I haven't _always_ known you've been in love with Lizzie? Why else do you think I _hate_ her?! I'm jealous of Lizzie because she has everything and doesn't know what to do with it! Everybody likes her, and people are instantly afraid of me. She's a faster skater than me, and coach likes her better, even though I'm the technically better skater and captain, and I can do a triple lutz and a triple axle and all kinds of good moves... and she has _you_ wrapped around her little finger. Lizzie's like the young American girl who gets the gold medal while I'm stuck with silver or bronze," Tanya shouted, furious, practically shaking with rage. She radiated jealousy.

What does figure skating have to do with any of this? I blinked dully, but I understood Tanya better than she knew. It was how I'd always felt towards Derek; everything just fell in his lap while I had to work for everything I got. Everyone seemed to like him better; Derek's effortlessly popular, immediately liked. He always says the right thing, even when it isn't, and he can get any girl he wants. He's charismatic and good-looking, and he gets away with absolutely everything. It was like I'd told Lizzie at the party; if anything, I was jealous of Derek for his innate ability to always get what _I_ wanted. Derek's achievements were held up as an example whereas all the things I'd done, things I was better at than Derek, even, were marginalized, ignored, and forgotten. I might not get the skating reference, but I got the resentment, all right. "I know what you mean," I mumbled, but Tanya probably didn't hear it.

A cold hate burned in Tanya's eyes. It was the look that she gave potential targets on the ice, the look she gave before hip-checking innocent wingers into the boards, tackling someone in her way, swiftly punching you in the face when the referee's back was turned, the look she gave before sticking her foot out to trip you, flipping you over with her skate, and thrusting her hockey stick just above your jugular. The blue flames burned for Lizzie, not me. "I see the way she flits around from guy to guy, Edwin. She's got a short attention span, and she doesn't appreciate you like she should. I mean, it's pretty damn obvious you'd do anything for her, but what do _you_ **really** get out of your friendship? She _uses_ you, maybe not even deliberately, but she does, and you know I'm right. She doesn't deserve you," Tanya said in a caustic voice that was almost pitying.

I was silent for a long moment. As much as Tanya was wrong about Lizzie (I couldn't help but think that Michelle had also brought up the duration of her relationships, a factor which I still consider mostly irrelevant), she had said a lot of things that had been on my mind lately. My friendship with Lizzie is of incalculable value to me, but it's hard for me to understand why, especially lately. Also, as much as I hated to admit it, I did feel like Lizzie used me. I was distracted when I replied to Tanya and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Trust me, Tanya, _I _don't deserve Lizzie."

Tanya blinked at me incredulously. "You're freaking kidding me, right?" she exclaimed in sheer disbelief. I shook my head no slowly, and Tanya rolled her eyes at me. "She's sure got you whipped for someone who never puts out. I must learn her secret," Tanya retorted sarcastically, although there was a little undertone of awe in her voice. Lizzie's secret is subtlety. As Tanya isn't a tease, she wouldn't understand this. Tanya doesn't know the meaning of subtlety. She's a predator; what she wants, she pursues. Tanya sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and leaning back on her elbows.

"Now, see, what really gets me is that Lizzie has absolutely no idea of the effect she has on you," Tanya remarked breezily. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "She doesn't even know because you haven't told her," she said suddenly, as if she'd just realized something. A thin little smile played on her lips and she leaned forward suddenly, shifting like a spring. "I never took you for a _coward_, Venturi. Guess I was wrong. You may have the guts to stand up to me, but you don't have the balls to do something about how you feel about Lizzie," Tanya drawled. Given that she barely knows me, the words were particularly cutting.

I am many things, but I haven't been a coward for a long time, and I'm not one now. And I'm not even in love with Lizzie anyway! I wanted to say that right then, in a fit of anger, but I had a feeling that was what Tanya wanted from me. "I'm not a coward, Tanya. I'm a realist. She's my best friend and my sister, and that's what's important. I'm not going to mess that up by telling her. There's absolutely no reason to tell her unless I'm a glutton for punishment. It's not eating me alive, and it'll probably go away. And I have a better chance of getting sucked into a black hole than I do of her reciprocating my feelings," I countered tersely, painting it in purely logical terms.

Given that I didn't particularly want Lizzie to have feelings for me, the comparison was fairly ironic (since Lizzie and I do seem to feel the same way about each other, for the most part). Still, I thought it was apt, given I'd have to be in deep space in order to be sucked into a black hole, and the odds of me ever going into outer space alone are extremely unlikely at best. Besides, getting far enough into space to be anywhere near a black hole would require travel faster than or close to the speed of light, which doesn't yet exist (and travel faster than the speed of light is impossible, according to Einstein), and that amount of time in space might just kill me anyway (if the time to travel there didn't already assure my demise).

Tanya shrugged. "Then give her time to get used to it, Edwin," Tanya informed me tactlessly, lounging on the bed. "After all, why _wouldn't_ she go for you? You've seen her in her most unattractive and vulnerable moments, and you haven't gone running for the hills. You're her best friend... you keep all her secrets... you're always there for her. And she thinks you're attractive," Tanya continued. I blinked at her. How did she know that and why on Earth was she giving me a peptalk on going after her worst enemy? At my questioning look, Tanya snorted. "What, you think the girls don't talk about you in the locker room? You're a Venturi, Edwin," Tanya quipped with a grin.

I made a face and stared at her long and hard for a moment, trying and failing to understand her contradictory behavior. I understand altruism, but Tanya's hardly an altruistic person to begin with... and I don't see why she'd want to help me. "Why are you doing this, Tanya? It doesn't make any sense," I said, grasping at air, trying to catch individual molecules.

"You can't make sense of everything, Ed," Tanya told me, standing up and beginning to move around the room to find her clothes. She bent down and found a jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes triumphantly, coming back up slowly. "And it doesn't change the fact that you should tell her." She shrugged obliquely, and her face was that cool, blank mask again. "And, anyway, maybe I think she deserves to know. I know _I'd_ want to know. You need to get off your ass and give it a shot. I mean..." Here she faltered, cigarette trembling in her hand, halfway to her mouth. She didn't say anything, and an almost tremulous look passed over her face, but then she was expressionless as ever, as if her facial muscles had been paralyzed by some kind of neurotoxin. "Edwin and Lizzie. Even I can see that's kinda meant to be."

How poetic of you, Tanya, I thought ironically. I didn't want to sit there and be forced to listen to her go on about these romantic feelings I didn't possess anymore. It was beginning to make me feel ill. I struggled to think of something to say, checking to be sure that I was fully dressed, even if I was dressed in stiff, cake-encrusted clothing. "Look, Tanya, for what it's worth, I'm sorry I can't be what you want. I'm just... not wired that way. Just... I'll see you at school, I guess," I said awkwardly, offering a weak wave and slipping out the door before she could throw herself at me in some characteristically overly physical and emotional outburst.

I was moving fast for several reasons: 1. I was supposed to be at home and probably in a fair amount of trouble, 2. I was in Dan's house, not my own, and 3. I was admittedly worried that Tanya might chase after me and drag me back to bed. And I might not be able to or desirous of say(ing) no. Of course, with my life hating me the way it usually does (yes, I know personifying a concept as considerably vague and inanimate, yes, ironic, I know, as life, is irrational and not quite... fitting, but my life and luck, or lack thereof, is so qualifiably horrendous that I feel entitled to make the comparison), I ran into Dan in the hallway. Not literally, of course, because he isn't a girl confusing the hell out of me, but that didn't mean it wasn't awkward.

Dan blinked upon seeing me, clearly having just woken up himself. "You're still here?" he asked disbelievingly. Obviously, Dan, because why would your brain hallucinate an image of me, as opposed to an attractive blonde? He must've either smelled or else correctly read my expression and body language (he's a crafty bastard like that) to determine my shame. "What did you do?" he asked suspiciously a moment later when he'd gained some sense.

Stupidly, I confirmed his worst suspicions by looking down like a person who is lying and/or suspicious. As if the cake still clinging to my rumpled clothes didn't give enough away. "Trust me, man, you don't want to know." Then I shook my head very, very slowly and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "_I_ don't want to know."

It was the truth. Also, about one second later, a fully-dressed Tanya came out of the room I'd exited in similarly rumpled clothing. Very subtle. Dan looked from her to me and gaped. "Man, a Walk of Shame, really?" he practically gasped in a tone that was full of both awe and a kind of fear. I was kind of offended, really, because he was acting like me having sex was really that rare. I have actually gotten laid from time to time, as opposed to some of my other friends who can't even talk to girls! Now, mind you, they're much more into comic books, video games, and role-playing games than I am... but I do prefer to have an actual life in the outside world as opposed to being a level fifty-nine mage in World of Warcraft or whatever.

Tanya's exit was also my cue to leave. I flashed Dan a tight smile, briefly patting him on the shoulder. "Great party, Dan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get going," I told him briskly before practically vaulting down the stairs in my haste to get out of the house. I was fortunate enough to discover my keys in my pocket and that my car was still there, which meant that Lizzie had gotten a ride with someone else. This was not something I particularly wanted to think about because the first thing that came to my mind after Derek and their similarly inebriated states was her leaving with some guy.

As I was driving home, I carefully noted the time on the dashboard. Unfortunately, it was about ten-thirty. While I could sneak past all of the others, I knew that Lizzie would be home by the time I got there. She'd still be all keyed up from whatever game she'd just been playing in, wide awake, grumpy, sore, and pumped full of adrenaline and residual aggression. I would invariably wind up telling her about what had just transpired because it was better she find out from me and be prepared for Tanya mentioning it later. There's also my inability to keep much of anything from her, and the fact that Lizzie would demand an explanation for my whereabouts the night before. Either way, Lizzie wasn't going to be happy for me; she'd be on the warpath, and I'd be lucky if I came out of it with my head still attached to my body.

I showed up at home hours late, dirty, unkempt, and still smeared with cake. Liz was leaning against the banister, waiting for me with a pretty pissed look on her face. When she saw me, her eyes sparked dangerously, and she came down the stairs menacingly, irritation radiating from each step. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her hair was still in the sweaty ponytail. She was still wearing her soccer uniform, which clung to her damp sides in a way that made me uncomfortable all over again. "So, mind telling me where the hell you were last night?" Liz snapped, coming towards me, arms crossed over her chest.

It wasn't really a question; it was more of an imperial mandate. There was an expectant look on her face, but obviously I didn't want to tell her. Not only would she never let me live it down, but she'd hold it against me because we'd gone there together and I'd left her to fend for herself. Let me tell you, that girl can keep a grudge. "Good morning to you too, Liz," I muttered sarcastically. However, after weighing it over for the approximate second I had before she exploded at me for taking too long, I decided it was best to be upfront about it. Lizzie hates it when people dodge a question and beat around the bush; she, like myself, prefers specific facts.

At that point I was aware that I could offer Lizzie vague generalizations to build up to the main point, but Liz prefers hearing the bad news first. I could just say that I spent the night at Dan's, for instance, or that I was with a girl, but those would still be lies of omission, even though they were both technically true. I could've even asked Tanya to swear not to tell anyone about... the sex... Ugh, it still makes me a little sick (and disturbingly turned on) to think about it. "Basically, from what I can discern, I got completely trashed and had sex with Tanya," I told her matter-of-factly.

Admittedly, the fact that I knew it would probably leave her speechless was also a significant motivating factor in my decision to tell her all of that at once. For a long moment, Lizzie merely gaped at me, and, I have to say, I was rather amused. It gave me time to move past her and fetch some well-needed aspirin from the bathroom and also take the argument to a less public place. She got over her shock when I left the bathroom; I opened the door, and there she was, standing directly in my way. "Tanya as in Tanya Slutskaya? The one on my hockey team? The one who assaults you in the hallway? _That_ Tanya?" Lizzie reiterated, although it was clear to me that she knew the answer.

I rolled my eyes at her, rubbing my head faintly. "Liz, what other Tanyas do we know?" I attempted to move past her towards my room so that our younger siblings or other family members couldn't possibly witness this very awkward conversation, but Liz didn't budge an inch, as usual. Liz blinked, still unable to believe I'd given in to Tanya (as was I, for that matter, but I'd consumed roughly enough alcohol to tranquilize a pony, so I chalked it up to that). I wisely took a step backwards so it'd be harder for her to injure me, which would be inevitably her first response.

Lizzie is a very physical type of person, not at all the kind to back away from conflict or potential conflict. She's very aware of her body and surroundings, and her basic instinct is always to fight (mine, on the other hand, is flight, and I think this explains a lot about the two of us). A variety of emotions passed over her bewildered features, one after the other, eventually bleeding and blending together: shame, frustration, embarrassment, irritation, annoyance, sheer rage, and finally immense disgust. I didn't see the blow coming, but I could sense it, and so I pulled back a little to lessen the impact. The palm of her hand flew hard at my cheek, slapping me so hard my head turned. "I can't _believe_ you, Edwin!" she exclaimed in horror.

Sadly, I knew I was lucky to get that kind of a response from her. If she'd been truly mad, I'd have seen her closed fist instead of her open palm, and she probably wouldn't have gone for that particular body part. Nevertheless, that didn't mean it didn't sting like a bitch! I rubbed my cheek, scowling at her. "Okay, Lizzie, what exactly can't you believe? I'm a red-blooded man in my sexual prime. I have needs, and I was drunk and horny. I would've had sex with just about anyone, like I told Tanya," I pointed out coolly.

She looked fairly aghast that I'd actually told Tanya that but managed to respond fairly quickly. "Well, for one thing, Genius, I thought you were smarter than that," Liz muttered before whirling around and smacking me upside the head. I didn't see that one coming at all, so it hurt. A lot. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything else, busy being caught up in her anger.

So, I decided that, while I had the chance, I ought to try and twist the argument to my advantage. It's true that you never or almost never win an argument against a woman, yes, but the argument annoyed me. Because, if one takes the time to logically think about it, Lizzie just shouldn't be this mad. It's not really like I've given her details, so she can't really be disgusted, and, while Tanya might be her rival, it's not like I actively sought her out to spite Lizzie. Furthermore, who I have sex with really isn't any of Lizzie's business. Lizzie's too emotional to appreciate my logical argument, so I guess I'll take it to her level. "What about _you_, Liz? Where were you when Tanya was leading me up the stairs? Still drooling over Derek? You didn't stop me!" I retorted irritably, turning the argument on her. Admittedly, I was still a bit bitter from the night before because I had the misfortune of remembering every single screwed up thing she did to me.

Lizzie's cheeks colored because I was probably right. "Don't try to blame your stupid decision on me. I'm **not** my brother's keeper! It's not my job to look after you and pull you away from the dumb slut! I have a life too, Edwin, and you'd think that... since you're _supposed_ to be a grown man and everything now that you wouldn't try to pass your bad choices off on me! _I'm_ not the one who had sex with Tanya here!" Lizzie shouted at me practically incoherently, shaking her hands, up in my face.

She was impossible to avoid like this with that withering Gorgon stare fixated on me. I glanced around the bathroom hopelessly, wondering how I always managed to get embroiled in some form of conflict here, in this very room. I rolled my eyes at her. I realize that the choice I made was technically and actually my decision, but I never would have... _decided_ (not that I really did)... to do that if Lizzie hadn't as much as pushed me to it. That reminded me that I didn't know where the hell she'd gone and what had happened to her last night. The not-knowing burned like a sexually-transmitted infection. "What the hell happened to you, huh, Lizzie? Where were you when I was screwing Tanya? Having sex with Derek?" I growled, moving closer to her, trying to intimidate her with my stature.

Lizzie's never been one to be easily intimidated, though. I regretted what I'd said, the irrational conclusion to which I'd jumped, almost immediately after I'd said it. It felt a little like I was revealing too much of the strychnine-marinated thoughts I liked to keep in neat little boxes. She turned the color of sour milk, except for her cheeks, which were still tinted with a faint flush. This I mistakenly interpreted as guilt, as opposed to what it truly was: sheer mortification. It took her a good minute to find her voice, and when she did, it was hardly convincing. "_No_! Not that it's any of your business-" she began rather weakly.

I cut her off with an instinctive response, foolishly pressing the issue I tried so very hard not to think about. "But it _is_ because he's my brother, and you're my sister, and-" I countered with a vicious swiftness. It was something that had been weighing on my mind for quite a while because Liz really had never seen just how involved I was in... whatever feelings she has for my brother. And I **am** involved, whether or not she wants to admit I am, because she made me involved.

Her eyes flashed like a tsunami, fury etched into her features as she interrupted. "_Damnit_, Edwin, **no**, I didn't screw Derek, okay? As much as I want to, it didn't happen. Unlike _you_, I can control my sexual desires," Liz snapped more bluntly than usual. Her words stung like antiseptic not just because of their blunted cruelty but more so because of the bitter irony behind those words. I knew better. Nevertheless, words couldn't explain the wave of relief that came over me. I saw by her clenched fists, tight muscles, and stony features that she was telling the truth.

Truthfully, I was kind of wondering how Lizzie didn't manage to completely humiliate herself by coming on to Derek, but I felt like I had done my duty, like I'd worried for nothing. Still, that didn't mean that I was going to let her get away with that very untrue quip, not when it was so far from what I knew. "Oh, come on! When you're drunk, you hit on anything with a pulse! What, did Derek reject you? Or did he go home with someone else?" I retorted loudly. Lizzie scowled at me, and her cheeks reddened.

My heartbeat quickened involuntarily because I was worried I'd accidentally hit upon something. However, Lizzie recovered soon enough, tossing her hair. She crossed her arms over her chest. "He was a perfect gentleman, actually. He drove me home when my other **stupid** brother, the one who was my ride to the party, couldn't be found. Because he was busy having sex with my worst enemy," she replied icily, enunciating her words so they seemed to pop out of her mouth, crisp and deadly. She then proceeded to reinforce this statement with a glower.

Admittedly, it got to me a little bit, made me feel guilty. Derek, however, was no gentleman, and he shouldn't have driven anyone anywhere when he was that drunk. Honestly, I was kind of surprised that it seemed like Liz hadn't made a move on him when she'd had such a good chance and excuse to do so. Maybe she has more sense than I thought... But then, out of nowhere, she slapped me again, hard across the face. "That's for saying all those nasty things about me and Derek. I know you don't approve, but can you at least restrain your disdain to your private thoughts? I don't _need_ to hear how much you disapprove every second of every day," Liz snarled, looking particularly combative.

She was, I noticed, in her fighting stance, arms up, palms facing outward. That last slap, coupled with her fighting position and utter denial of what I knew to be facts, absolutely infuriated me. "What do you want from me, Lizzie? I had sex with her. It's not like I wanted to, but I can't undo that. It's not like I can un-have sex with her! So what do you expect me to do about it, Liz?" I shouted back at her, frustrated, invading her space in a way that was familiar to me but not familiar to me personally. It was something I'd always seen Derek and Lizzie, masters of physical confrontation, do in arguments, but I felt uncomfortable adopting an action so unfamiliar to myself.

Liz wasn't afraid or uncomfortable, but then again, she doesn't really intimidate. She's had years of training to make sure she doesn't back down from a good fight. She turned away from me for the first time, running a hand over her head absently, and she started to pace very much like her sister. "Do you realize what this means? Thanks to your inability to keep your dick in your pants, my worst enemy now knows _exactly_ what my brother's like in bed," Lizzie exclaimed, pausing to throw me a dirty look. An absolutely horrified look crept over her face as she continued to pace, throwing her hands in the air in a way that was uncharacteristically dramatic.

"Guess what I'll have to hear about in the locker room after practice, Ed? Your brother did this, your brother did that... Your brother really turned me on. And his face looked like this, and he said that... Ooh, oh, give it to me, baby. In graphic detail, Edwin! _Graphic_! As if I can't already see it happening in my head! And, being obsessed with you, she'll remember everything and, hating me, will take great delight in retelling every nasty little detail to me and the rest of our entire hockey team! I do **not** want to hear about your disgusting sex life!" she rambled, damn near getting herself worked up into a frenzy.

The look on her face slowly changed to disgust. I put my hands up in the air, not wanting to enrage her further and, admittedly, kind of worried that she was going to hit me again. "Hey, it's not like I'm proud of it either. I hate her too." It wasn't quite true, though. I didn't really hate Tanya, but I didn't particularly like her either... and, honestly, I didn't feel like I could hate her after what happened. "I felt **dirty** afterwards, like I'd never be clean again. I touched her in places that shamed me in the morning... and the worst part is that I can't take it back. I'm stuck with her knowing me like that for eternity..." I told Lizzie quietly as I was overcome by flashes of memory that made me blink and grimace. Perhaps I'd been too honest with her, but I wanted her to know that I did genuinely regret it. "You won't find me bragging about screwing the crazy chick."

Lizzie rolled her eyes at me and muttered something about me being disgusting. Sensing her anger was diminishing (or, rather, hoping), I decided to try yet another new tactic. Her fury, while somewhat justified was, in my opinion, a bit much for me sleeping with someone stupid. It felt like she was just a bit too concerned with my sex life, and there was a bit of a possessive undertone. Liz doesn't like ceding anything to Tanya, much less me. "Well, Liz, think of it this way... She wasn't the one who taught me how," I suggested a bit too logically. I knew it was a poor argument the moment I said it, that it was breaking an unspoken rule we had to even refer to that, that it would bring up some unpleasantness... but once I'd committed to saying it, I couldn't go back.

Stunned, her eyes whipped to lock with mine. She'd stopped pacing, and her face was an odd color, pale and almost sickly-looking. She cocked a hand on her hip, throwing up her chin defiantly. Her eyes blazed with a new kind of anger, irritated and embarrassed by the reminder. "And _I_ was?" she asked in a dangerous, expectant tone of voice.

I knew I was treading on thin ice, but I decided to go with honesty. "For pretty much everything, yeah. Besides, you were there first," I said casually, as if it wasn't a big deal. Lizzie gawked at me, speechless, as a grimace blossomed on her face. Her forehead wrinkled. She didn't want to think of me as a place or destination. "So, technically, Tanya got sloppy seconds." I told her that kind of hoping she'd laugh, but I was met instead by a stony glare.

Her glare was unrelenting, and her wrath radiated from every pore. She snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Okay, Edwin, I don't know if you've forgotten this, but I NEVER HAD SEX WITH YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE!" she damn near screamed. She then remembered where we were, that the door was open, and that anyone could hear us. A shameful flush crept over her cheeks as she suddenly slammed the door shut and locked it decisively. I raised an eyebrow. She threw me a dark look, rolling her eyes at me. "And it's not like I can go around telling Tanya that, anyways, you moron. I mean, gee, that'd only give her enough ammo to taunt me for the rest of my _life!" _she quipped sarcastically.

I didn't really buy that excuse either, but I couldn't see Lizzie and Tanya ever having a serious conversation. It was kind of insulting, too, the way she'd made it seem like whatever we had was... somehow ridiculous, something embarrassing like those stories your parents tell about you when you were little. It was belittling, her brushing it off as that. "First off, you won't see Tanya ever again after this year, except at the reunions. Secondly, I wasn't _that_ bad! And don't give me that BS about us never having sex because we did everything _but_ that, and you know it," I interjected matter-of-factly, defensively, stubbornly. Besides, it wasn't as if Lizzie actually cared what Tanya thought about her.

She made a face at me and put a hand up. "Let's negate the wrongness of that sentence for a minute and focus on what you seem to be missing... Okay?" she muttered, huffing out a sigh. "I can't just go up to her and say, "Hey, Tanya. Guess what? I had a torrid affair with my stepbrother the summer of Grade Nine, and, yeah, I know you slept with him, but I kind of taught him everything he knows... so all that you got was the benefit of my experience slash experimentation. So yay for sloppy seconds, huh?" Not going to work, Edwin," Lizzie explained, adopting a fake girly tone. Her voice was ripe with sarcasm. "I can't properly gloat over something I'm ashamed of," she added a moment later, quietly.

Sure, she'd intimated as much, but it was another thing entirely to hear her say that out loud. My response was instinctive and foolishly emotional. Her comment had stung me to the quick because I didn't like being something to be ashamed of. I was ashamed of myself, yes, for many reasons and many things, but I'd never been ashamed of that... brief liaison. I'd never looked on it like that, and, in retrospect, it's not something I tend to think about much at all. I guess it meant more to me than that, like an untouched, pristine cavern in my memory, nearly sacrosanct. And it... kind of... hurt to hear that she didn't feel the same. "_Ouch_... You know, thanks for reminding me why we don't talk about that," I said shortly.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, nonplussed. I spoke before she could, at least partially afraid of what she was going to say. I once again returned to the calm and rational, serious approach. It didn't seem like any of my debate techniques worked on her. I couldn't tear her argument apart because it wasn't that kind of argument, and she was a bit justified. "Seriously, though, I highly doubt she'll publicize this, Liz. She knows I was wasted and not thinking straight. She knows that's the only reason it happened, that it didn't mean anything to me," I told her tranquilly, keeping my voice as even as possible.

Unfortunately, she happened to choose that moment to give in to that feminine sympathy and camaraderie so uncharacteristic of her in regards to Tanya. "But, dumbass, it meant something to _her_," she said brutishly, reinforcing her statement with a hard and fast punch to the arm. It wasn't like I didn't know that, but it meant nothing to me, and what the hell could I do about that? Nothing. Furthermore, it seemed rather like a contradiction, given she'd just done something similar to me (though, admittedly, my own behavior is equally hypocritical given the circumstances). "And, you know, you don't just sleep with _anyone_, Ed," she continued, giving me a sideways glance. Tanya had said the same thing, and it only served to remind me of how similar they were in some respects.

Naturally, I couldn't resist a sarcastic response when it was presented to me so neatly like that. "You _would_ know, according to anyone at school," I drawled, giving her a suggestive look that was perhaps a bit over the top. I was rewarded for my crudeness with a punch in the arm right on top of the other one. When she glanced away, I rubbed my probably now-bruised arm, but I didn't let myself make a single sound to bely my pain. I shrugged almost helpfully. "Just saying."

I knew that Lizzie was aware of the rumors and some of the things they said, but before then I'd never seen her react seriously to them. She usually took them as jokes, let them roll off her back, and then told me later so we could laugh about it, only obviously I don't find these rumors so funny anymore. "Oh, shut up. You know better. Only morons buy that," she remarked vaguely testily. I stiffened. Oh, really, Liz? Then why do my _friends _always ask me about it? And why does Rebecca, one of your closest friends, think I want to have sex with you, huh? Argh, probably because I do. On some subconscious level. God, I did not just say that!

While I was still spinning, trying to digest/talk myself out of/forget/repress/suppress the former completely offhand and obviously misdirected comment, Lizzie stopped and rested against the sink, thrusting her chest outwards. I tried really very hard not to look at the sight I was presented with, but it was so hard when she was there, and the bathroom felt so _small_. I eventually forced myself to swallow and look away because it was more important that I get this out. "But, seriously, Tanya knows it's not going to get her anywhere, talking about it," I continued, pausing for a brief moment before speaking fairly quickly. I kind of hoped that if I spoke rapidly enough, Lizzie would miss what I was about to say. "Besides, she thinks I'm in love with you anyways, and she probably knew that I was going to tell you all this anyway. So what does she achieve in telling other people, unless she actually thinks you're in love with me too and wants to make you jealous by reminding you that I slept with her?" I asked intelligently. It was perhaps a bit too much for her to wrap her mind around, and that was more or less my point, to confuse her.

Lizzie, who had been stretching with her back to me, glancing at herself in the mirror, and frowning in disapproval, stopped suddenly and whirled around to look at me. She blinked in confusion and then began to advance on me. I told myself I wasn't going to back up an inch, but we both know that when it comes to Lizzie (and life in general), that's just not true or something that happens often. "Edwin," began Liz in a deadly calm voice, pausing deliberately before carrying on, "_why _does Tanya think that you're in love with me?" There was a tension in that slow question, the kind of menacing tension there is whenever a mother or a wife asks you a question you thought slipped by her, and you don't particularly want to answer it.

"Because I told her I was to get her off my back," I responded immediately, ready for it and not afraid of the latent threat in her voice. Considering Lizzie's generally relaxed attitude towards the rumors about us and her fondness for poking fun at the rumors by seemingly encouraging them with her behavior, I didn't think she'd particularly mind. Besides, it wasn't as if her popularity had suffered any or that the rumors which so plagued me had any bearing on (or caused any disruption to) her life. Also, she wasn't dating anyone and didn't want to date anyone at school, given that she's in love with my brother, so it doesn't even matter.

However, Liz stopped dead in her tracks and gaped at me. I briefly wondered if that meant she thought I was _actually_ in love with her but quickly dismissed the foolish thought when she reanimated and stalked towards me. Apparently she had just been too stunned for words, so hard was it for her to believe I told Tanya something like that. "YOU _**WHAT**_???!" she bellowed, hands finding my collar and shaking me hard, a mixture of disbelief and fury in her stony features. She looked very much like she wanted to punch me in the face.

I wasn't afraid of her, not because I didn't think she could do it or because I thought I could talk myself out of it. To put it simply, this was _Lizzie_, and that was that. If she hit me, I generally deserved it, and even if I didn't, as in this case, I still felt bad enough about the whole affair to probably take it. I did kind of know that she wouldn't hurt me too badly, though. Nevertheless, people like Liz can sense fear, so I learned long ago to stop showing it and then to stop expressing it, and, finally, to stop feeling fear towards her at all because she's really a great big softie at heart like Derek.

So I shrugged coolly and held up my hands in a nonthreatening manner, not like I could ever truly be threatening to Lizzie. "Well, it's not like I wanted to say that. Obviously something like that's going to come back to bite me in the ass," I told her frankly, "But it was the only thing she'd take for a no. It was the only way she'd let me get out of there... and I _had_ to get out of there, even if had to gnaw my arm off to do it. Because apparently saying I wasn't interested wasn't reason enough." Truthfully, I thought it was better that we were having this conversation now, rather than have her be surprised by it later and think I'm _actually_ in love with her. Now that... that would be messy and uncomfortable for all parties involved, but mostly me. And it would be painfully awkward to have that conversation.

Lizzie threw her hands in the air and gave me a dark look. "Great. Now I'm gonna be the girl whose creeper stepbrother is in love with her! Way to upgrade, Edwin!" she exclaimed sarcastically. I glared right back at her because it's ten million times worse to be the creepy stepbrother in this situation. I'm the predator, the sister-desirer, the failed lover... pathetic. She doesn't get it half as bad as I do. She doesn't have people insinuating that she wants to rape _me_. I found Lizzie's reaction a little melodramatic and oddly negative, and I didn't really understand what had flipped the switch and made her so pissy with me. It was like I couldn't do or say anything right, no matter how logical or correct it was.

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave her an unrelenting look. "You're being awfully hostile to me, Liz. Wanna tell me why?" I said, forcing myself to be calm and nonjudgmental, but Liz just threw me this look that said that after what I'd done, she had every right to be hostile and combative. I shook my head at her. "I have it much worse than you do, so I don't see why you're all bent out of shape about this. You **do** know I'm not really in love with you, right?" I continued a bit more harshly than I should've, but I just needed to get that message across to her.

She scoffed, "Of course I know that, you ignoramus." Nevertheless, the way she said it made me wonder if it wasn't all bluster, if there was even the slightest chance that she was just convincing herself it was true. Or lying to me, which all signs indicated she might be. Lizzie's hands were clenched into fists at her hips, the set of her chin stubborn, and her eyes refused to look at me. Then she looked up at me pointedly and practically spat, "But don't think it's easy being your sister."

I froze, stiff and immobile as an object at absolute zero. I was an immovable object. That comment had made me bristle. "And just _what_ is that supposed to mean, Lizzie?" I rejoined swiftly. Lizzie remained defiantly silent, shooting me furtive, hostile glances. Her refusal to elaborate made me so furious that I was incredibly illogical. Because it was so damn hard and frustrating to be _her_ brother, and since she's not really my blood sister, I can't give into natural sibling rivalry and at least hate her or attempt sororicide. "You think I _like_ being your brother? You think I like having _everyone_ I know ask me invasive personal questions about our friendship? You think I like having to take care of you, that I like being your _keeper_? You think it's **fun** for me, watching you make all the same mistakes over and over again? You think I _like_ helping you all the time at my own expense? It's not all roses for me either," I retorted angrily.

Her face fell, but I didn't feel immediately horrible for it since she'd been nothing but mean to me since I got home. She hadn't cared at all how I felt about anything, it seemed. Soon enough, though, Liz collected herself, no longer allowing her surprise to show on her face. I didn't talk to Lizzie like that. "I'm sorry I've _burdened_ you so much over the years, Edwin. I had no idea our relationship was such an... inconvenience... to you. Don't feel like you have to look after me anymore, because I'm a grown woman, and I can do a better job of it myself. And, since that's the way you really feel, I'll make it a whole lot easier on you by removing myself from your life. Since that's what you really want," Lizzie bit back coldly. Her eyes flashed and sizzled like blue lighting. I could hear the impending thunder in my ears.

By that point, I realized I'd made a grave mistake. I didn't not want Lizzie in my life, obviously, and the thought of a life without her was incomprehensible to me. On some levels, it might be a relief to be without her... but I'd still rather put up with all her crap than not have my best friend. Looking after Lizzie was not only my responsibility; it was something I would've done regardless because she was my best friend, not just my sister, and I was invested in her life. "That's... not what I want, Liz," I managed weakly, unable to say more. I hated how it felt like she'd seized power over my life yet again.

Lizzie, too, saw it as a victory, judging by the proud gleam in her eyes, but she wasn't going to give an inch. She raised an eyebrow coolly. "Oh, really, Edwin? Because it sure seemed like it a minute ago," she muttered tersely, refusing to back down. Oh, she wanted me to beg, and I wasn't going to do it. I was tired of being driven to desperate extremes by her. After a tense moment had passed, Liz leaned forward, a hand clasping her hip, invading my personal space. "Remember, Edwin," she breathed in a low, mocking drawl, "_you_ need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. Where would you be without me? Six feet under?" She slapped my cheek derisively, harder than she should've, and I went cold.

My muscles were as stiff as if rigor mortis had set in, and when I drew in a deep breath, it was like I was breathing underwater. The remark had hit a little too close to home because I didn't want to think about what would've happened to me as an adolescent if I hadn't had people like Lizzie and the rest of the McDonald's in my life. I'd always been painfully aware of my isolation from the rest of my family. Derek's always ruled the household, and Marti and Derek have that special bond. Dad's clueless and forgetful, and my mother prefers studying sushi and algae to mothering. And, honestly, I kind of don't know where I'd be if Lizzie wasn't in my life. In the vacuum that was my mind, I was unable to conjure up a single thought.

It was like the universe before the Big Bang: emptiness, a void. We'd already had this damn argument, only reversed, and it wasn't something I was particularly fond of, but I didn't know what the hell to do. All I knew was that I needed to end this and end it now. "I know I screwed up, Liz, but having sex with Tanya has nothing to do with you and me... And since nothing I do is good enough to appease you, why bother? You don't want me intruding on your business and your privacy, then fine. We'll see just who needs who, Liz. Good luck trying to win my brother over on your own. When you embarrass yourself, don't come crying to me about how he doesn't love you. Have a nice life," I snarled, pushing past her and stalking upstairs.

I didn't look back. I left before she could respond, but if she had, I wouldn't have listened. I slammed the door shut behind me and locked it so no one would bother me, and then I threw off my clothes angrily, putting on some cleaner clothes I found, and then I collapsed on my bed, face-first. I didn't want to think about Lizzie at all, or what I'd just done, much less Tanya, so I screwed my eyes shut and tried to think of things that made me happy. Eventually, I realized I was too wound up to sleep like I desperately wanted and needed to (and I couldn't shower, which I would've preferred, lest I run into that she-devil), so I retreated to the solitude of my computer and the paper that should be consuming my life.

_Julia sets are often reflective of varying patterns in family and social interaction, especially among females. As the littlest change in a single value, such as hormonal fluctuations, misinterpretation of behavior, or other things seemingly as minute as leaving a cabinet door open, can greatly affect connected ensuing variables, the situation can change dramatically. An example of this would be how a single action can set a woman off and cause a large argument, possibly even something resulting in estrangement or a similarly repulsive action. In this respect, Julia sets are strange repellers, rather than proper strange attractors._

I stopped when I realized I was still talking about Lizzie, and that it was discussing a concept I wasn't particularly familiar with and sounded a bit too much like pseudo-science to me. I need to do more research, because clearly if Julia sets are strange repellers, they're alike enough for one to believe that they should attract, and yet they do the opposite... Finally, I sighed and returned to bed, smothering my face in the pillow and slowly falling into a deep sleep, mind still full of things I didn't want to think about.

- Lor ;*

Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews! I really appreciate it!


	15. Magnetism

Firstly, the fact that I opened up Doc Manager and had no documents is a clear sign that I have not updated in way too damn long. Though, to put things into perspective, this semester has KICKED my ass. And the whole lack of free time has kind of gotten to me... and my quality of life is very much diminished. And, admittedly, my updating will probably suffer even further when I'm abroad next year. 'Cause internet access and writing time and all that will probably be upset.

Anyway, back to the story, since you don't want to hear my excuses... So, this chapter didn't exactly turn out quite as expected, but, you know, they never do. But, anyways, within it, you get to learn a bit more about Lizzie. See her in action and a friend or two (and, by the way, next chapter, you get to see A LOT of Lizzie's friends and various associates. It's kind of a big estrogenfest. Also, I realized that I don't really show Liz interacting with Edwin's friends much or interacting with guys nonromantically, but I guarantee you she does it and does it very well). You also see what she and Edwin are like when they're away from each other (or the beginnings of it), a flaming biotch rears her ugly head... The Voice of Reason deigns to speak to Edwin. And there's some fun disciplinary and emotional issues at work too, just to make it that much more fun. And I do not own LWD or any of the characters depicted within this story, except for their personalities (if they aren't say, people with defined personalities), which I have created or shaped. And the guy's last name, although he's sort of in a way based off of a real person, so whatever. But, yeah, this chapter is more of a regaining-equilibrium-setting-up-new-things-chapter. And then next chapter I screw things up for Edwin all over again. But, anyway, this is all kind of leading up to the big event of Christmas, which will be a multi-chapter extravaganza with all kinds of drama and liquor and fireworks and ice cream and drama and family and sex and violence and misteltoe and slight bouts of insanity and wrestling and Santa and exes and Casey and figuring everything out.

Coincidentally, this semester I am taking a kind-of physics course, which brings up many of the dilemmas of theoretical physics, which truly is fascinating, btw, and the mysteries of the universe. Which have always fascinated me. So expect to see some of that stuff filtering in, hopefully when I can, 'cause I kinda jot down things during class that I feel are applicable, such as entropy (which was actually always applicable, but I have better quotes now) and astrophysics... And, also, intriguing fact, a lot of physicists themselves don't understand the big concepts. Such as energy. Which my own teacher admitted. He was just like, "we write these equations to quantify stuff, but when you get all of us drunk at the end of the day, we still don't really know what they are." Also, similarly randomly, I have a lot of friends who are very much interested in physics as of late. Which, I mean, to me it would be a fascinating subject were not so much math involved. Such as Calculus. So, yeah, Ed's physics teacher is named after mine. ;)

Also, since I'm sure everyone has seen the Vacation with Derek trailer, and eventually that movie will come out, I have to figure out how to deal with it. And I still don't know about that, 'cause, like, what if Nora has her baby, and it's a girl, or I'm supposed to mention some lame-ass romance that Casey might've had with that dancer boy when I have her with Truman, or when exactly said vacation takes place (as it is a little hard to believe it occurs right after Casey and Derek graduate, given the differences in hair and in the growth of Edwin, Lizzie, and Marti... speaking of which, blonde-Lizzie with a purple streak? What am I supposed to do with THAT? Not that it doesn't look good, but oy, it's a little bit of a mess...). 'Cause, of course, I don't really want to have to make this fic AU, even though it is a little because the baby's actually born a bit earlier, like while they were still in school... Also, on a side note, I find Derek's hair interesting. It's not the best look, but in certain spots it does look good (and also kind of recalls his hair first season), and, more interestingly, it makes him look older. Also, I kinda really don't think Casey's boytoy is cute. And it's sad when your stepbrother is more attractive than your love interest. It just is.

* * *

**Magnetism:** The phenomenon of ferric attraction, associated with how materials respond to magnetic fields and electric currents.

* * *

Today has basically been awful for me. Lizzie and I haven't spoken or seen much of each other all weekend, which is enough to put me on edge. She's still not speaking to me, and admittedly, I didn't at first try and engage her in conversation because I was still mad... but her silent treatment is truly maddening! The silent car ride was awkward enough, but we sit next to each other in half of the classes we share. Class is damn near unbearable if she won't say a word and pretends like I don't even exist. In the ones where we don't have assigned seating, Liz ditched me and sat with her other stupid friends. Otherwise I might be okay with that, but a lot of my friends aren't in my classes because of the way our schedules worked out, among other things.

That's how I wound up sitting next to Sandy Chang, with whom I have a slightly antagonistic relationship at best, in Chemistry. Sandy's basically your typical overachiever, and she's got her heart set on being valedictorian. We've been duking it out for the better part of five years with no clear victor, although I am slightly ahead at the moment. Sandy and I are in most of the same classes, since her schedule is equally science and math-heavy (which is fitting, I suppose, since she wants to be either a doctor, geneticist, or chemical engineer). She's also a bit of a teacher's pet, whereas I'm the type of guy who prefers to sit in the back of the classroom and blurt out answers only when no one else will. I'm mostly ambivalent about her because I'm not a competitive guy, but the girl can be really abrasive.

Sandy Chang, who is one of those people you _must_ refer to with both names, sat next to me for one of two reasons, I'm sure. She either has finally acknowledged my intellectual superiority, or, the more likely reason, it was either partner with me, a capable human being, albeit one she dislikes, or Shelbert Schlepper. Since she likes to think she's clever and is capable of normal human interaction, Sandy leaned forward and kind of smirked at me. "Aw, what? Did you and Elizabeth finally have a falling out? You know, people have been taking bets on how long it'd take for her to realize she was too good for you," Sandy drawled evilly.

I turned to glare at her, but I secretly wondered if what she said was true. Did people actually make bets on us? I know there was a betting pool for Derek and Casey back in high school, but us too? "Don't speculate, Sandy. It doesn't suit you, and, really, that's none of your business," I said in as cool of a voice as possible so as to not make it apparent that she'd hit a nerve. I could feel my eyes get colder. "I know the only reason you sat next to me was because it was either me or Shelbert... but don't think I won't send you off to work with him if you continue to be... unpleasant..." I replied coldly.

Sandy's eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't do that," she said a moment later, reassuring herself. However, I caught the flash of anger in her eyes, and I knew I had that leverage over her. Truthfully, Sandy's new to this class. Due to some schedule malfunction, she transferred in last week. She'd previously had a different Chemistry teacher, but I think he was arrested for being a pedophile.

"Oh, yes, I can. Hennessey likes me a hell of a lot better than he likes you. Why wouldn't he listen to what his brightest student has to say?" I remarked confidently. It was no leap in logic to say that. Mr. Hennessey didn't really know Sandy very well, and he doesn't really like kiss-asses. Also, he might agree with me that Shelbert could benefit from Sandy Chang monitoring him. Sandy's face fell, which meant she totally believed me, and I felt a small surge of satisfaction at that.

I thought we'd come to a silent understanding, so I turned away and forced myself not to watch Lizzie whispering to Rebecca, who was looking directly at me and no doubt confirming my worries by telling Lizzie all kinds of nasty things about me. Suddenly, Sandy Chang's voice broke into my thoughts. "I don't hate you, you know, Edwin. I really don't think you're that bad. My only problem with you is your inability to just step aside and allow me to take my rightful place as valedictorian," she told me conversationally, as if that was a particularly normal thing to say. I opened my mouth to counter her statement or say something about how my sister before me had been valedictorian and that competition is a good thing, but Sandy continued, "You're intelligent, and I respect that. Also, you do present an intellectual challenge, which I don't exactly get much of around here." Admittedly, I sort of understood that last part.

Blinking in confusion, I asked, "What are you talking about, Sandy?" It almost sounded like she was preparing the both of us for an invitation to ask me out, which might possibly scar me for life. Sandy Chang is one of those very intense people that's a lot to take in. She also tends to make lesser people feel... inferior. Sometimes it's intentional, and sometimes it isn't.

Sandy replied coolly, "I was merely making an appreciative observation about your academic prowess. You make me a better competitor. I can recognize that." Sandy Chang has this unfortunate tendency of overdoing it, which results in her sounding like a robot. I think that overcompensation says something about her desire to appear smart, as people who are _actually_ smart can adapt themselves to changing circumstances. Sandy also has a very unnerving stare, so this comment left me fairly perturbed, and, frankly, still unsure as to whether or not she was hitting on me.

I rolled my eyes at her. "Whatever, Poindexter." Sandy looked confused, of course, because Sandy Chang has no life outside of textbooks, schoolwork, community service, and her prodigious piano-playing. I turned away, a sign that I didn't particularly feel there was a conversation to continue, but apparently Sandy took that as a cue to continue talking. Foolish girl, for all her brains.

"And I like Lizzie too. She's a friend. But your extremely close relationship doesn't make logical sense. You and Lizzie are as different as helium and uranium. I mean, she's a jock, and you're into science. You two are like..." Sandy chattered, pausing as if searching for the word. The sad thing is that, if Sandy wasn't so Sandy Chang all the time, I might actually consider dating her. Sandy, for all her understanding of school-related topics, doesn't really have a complete grasp of social relationships. And she doesn't know the first thing about Lizzie and me. Not that I can blame her, I guess. It's a complicated dynamic at best; I'm not even sure I understand it completely. "Strange attractors," Sandy said, completing her thought.

I winced, and Sandy picked up on it. No matter how much I try to rationalize it, there's always going to be that element of our relationship that is beyond explanation, maybe even unnatural. In that respect, Sandy's right, and I don't suppose I could've explained it any better myself. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of acknowledging that she was right, but something in me did kind of crumple at that point. "You don't know the first thing about chaos theory, Sandy," I told her, gritting my teeth. It was a bit more metaphorical than I'd intended, annoyingly enough.

Sandy frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but I made a rather dismissive hand gesture to stop her motion. A moment later, Sandy shook her head and retorted, "And what makes you think you know more?" She was looking at me expectantly, and I shot her a dark glare, not really wanting the conversation to continue but unable to stop it, especially now that I was on metaphorical grounds.

Well, I am writing a paper on it, so I think I can take a position of authority on the issue. "A lifetime of experience, Sandy," I replied wearily. Admittedly, I wasn't just thinking about my relationship with Lizzie. After all, the majority of my paper isn't based on my dealings with Lizzie but rather the rest of my family, or, in particular, confrontations between Derek and Casey, and in the observable patterns in their interaction. My paper isn't about _I_ interact with my family members; it's about how they interact with each other. "I could write the book on it," I muttered, an ironic smile on my lips.

Sandy Chang actually looked puzzled for a minute, but then continued as if nothing had been said. "Logically, Edwin, this was bound to happen sooner or later. You and Lizzie are both going to grow up and go your separate ways, and you'll both make your own families... and no matter what, you can't be as close as you have been for years. You need to accept that. You should've prepared yourself for the possibility long ago. That's the prudent thing to do, nip it in the bud right now so it'll be less painful later," she said primly. I gaped at her in sheer disbelief that one person could be so... insensitive.

I blinked at her. "Seriously, Sandy, do you _have_ friends?" Sandy Chang blinked similarly, as if she didn't even understand the question, and cocked her head to the side. I wondered if Sandy could rationalize her way out of even that; if anyone could, I was sure she would. The look on her face demanded an explanation, so I sighed and began to explain. "Most people are sentimental, Sandy, and they have trouble just giving up on a friendship like that. Lizzie's been my best friend for eight years, Sandy. You _don't_ just turn your back on that, no matter how much it hurts you to maintain the friendship," I elucidated, realizing suddenly, a bit sadly, that it did hurt. Much more than I'd ever realized.

For a second she gave me this look that made me think she was a bit more perceptive than I'd realized, but then she turned away and said nothing. Someone like Sylvia or Tanya might've chosen that moment to say something pointed or sensitive, but perhaps it was wiser that Sandy shut her mouth. While I guess you could say working with Sandy was a refreshing change, the class dragged on for millenia. Lizzie didn't even look at me once the entire class, and my many attempts to talk to her, through notes and messages, were all ignored.

This resulted in the typical ridicule, only worse because I didn't even have Lizzie on my side. Worse still, several people noticed the change in our dynamic and made comments about it, which was just adding insult to injury. So, at that point, when I left class, I didn't think it could possibly get much worse, which was, of course, a grave mistake because I happened to encounter Brent-the-gletcher-archer. He just so happens to be my nemesis, mostly as a result of him briefly stealing Michelle away from me but also a result of him constantly being a douchebag.

I saw him and tried to do the mature thing. You know, walk past him, pretending like I hadn't seen him so as to avoid some... unpleasantness. Brent, however, anticipated this action and therefore took steps to make avoidance an impossible option. He stepped towards me just as I was passing him and said, as if we were actually on familiar terms, "Eddie, your sister's looking real hot lately. I'm thinking about asking her out, you know, taking her for a _ride_..." He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was both suggestive and disrespectful.

Though I tried valiantly not to react, his comment engendered an almost immediate grimace on my face. Seeing the distaste and my open mouth, he grinned in victory. "Look, you prick, don't talk about my sister. She wouldn't give someone like you the time of day," I snapped, leaving no room for doubt in my voice. Really, Lizzie was so much better than this loser (hoping, actually, that she was the sister to which he was referring). I was almost entirely confident she wouldn't date him, and my voice reflected that.

Plus I didn't like the way he talked about taking her for a ride. Like she was a car or a horse or something. And, come on, the guy has a moped. What girl wants to take a test-drive on that unless they're in Europe and the darkly attractive guy's named Paulo or Serge. "Getting testy, are we, Venturi? Why, afraid I'll steal yet _another_ girlfriend away from you?" Brent drawled, smugness creeping into his voice a little more with each syllable. I always want to punch him in the face, but it was harder to restrain myself at that particular moment. He laughed then, an artificial, highly irritating sound, kind of like a corrosive. "Not that you could blame her. I mean, I _am_ better than you," he continued overconfidently.

I rolled my eyes because, unlike him, I am above childish pissing contests, and I'm not the kind of man who is intimidated by other guys, especially morons like Brent. I don't compete unnecessarily, and there's no point in comparing myself to pond scum because it diminishes who I am as a person, since I'm comparing myself to him and his low standards. And I wasn't going to fall for that obvious bait, so I didn't say anything, for once, about her not being my girlfriend, or, indeed, what he'd just said. "It's ridiculous how deluded you are, Perry. She'd never go out with you."

He raised an eyebrow, seeming to take that as a personal challenge. "Oh, really? 'Cause I think she'd go for me. I could teach her how to shoot," he remarked, amused. I wondered if he was actually seriously considering it (he might, too, just to spite me). Because he shouldn't. Lizzie is so far out of his league that she's in an another ballpark entirely, a ballpark across the country.

His response was so ridiculous, naturally, that I had to laugh. Lizzie had advanced through the ranks of Girl Scouts to the point where she is currently a Troop Leader for a bunch of... disadvantaged youths. Ever the athlete and modern Artemis, she'd been shooting bow-and-arrow since she was ten. Furthermore, she's a crack shot and has taught archery at day camps in the summer. "Liz already knows how. In fact, she owns a crossbow, and she could probably shoot you running in zigzags from over a hundred yards away," I told him proudly. Trust me, I was not exaggerating. It's not just arrows she shoots, you know.

She's an expert markswoman, no stranger to the local shooting range (in addition to BB, pellet, and paintball for fun. Lizzie is rather pugilistic). I've seen her targets, too, and hers are full of holes in the head and the heart. Since it takes a lot of strength to correctly operate a crossbow, and it's very hard to shoot a moving target, Brent looked suitably impressed. Unfortunately, this seemed to actually interest him in Lizzie. "Oh, come on, Ed. It's not fair to keep her all to herself, and you know it. A girl like _that_ doesn't want to waste all of her time cooped up indoors with you," he decreed, clapping his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged away from his grip, scowling at him.

"I think I know my sister better than you do, Brent, and she doesn't waste her time playing with little boys. She's into _real_ men," I bit back firmly. Don't be mistaken; I wasn't dumb enough to include myself in that comparison. I was actually talking about Derek, who was a real man in most every sense of the word. Brent wasn't a thing like Derek. He was like a paler, dumber copy: not too heavy on the brains, attractive in a bland, boring basketball player kind of way, not quite as active or athletic or skilled as either Lizzie or Derek in any field. Having decided that the conversation had come to its natural, necessary conclusion, I pivoted on my heel and continued down the hall. "And she wouldn't even consider someone who wasn't her equal."

That was meant to be it all, but Brent is a persistent bastard. "And you are?" he questioned skeptically. I paused for a second but didn't give into the impulse to say something and kept going. Then Brent went and played dirty. "A word of advice, Venturi," he practically yelled down the hallway, "you should stop being so obvious about it. I mean, it's bad enough that everyone in the _school_ knows you want to jump your sister's bones, but one of these days, Lizzie's going to figure it out too. And then what will you do?"

Yes, **everyone** in the hallway heard that little announcement. So if they didn't already think I was carrying a torch for her (or, for that matter, carrying on an intimate relationship with her), they did after hearing Brent's asinine comment. I stopped and turned around very slowly, restraining myself from attacking him like I wanted to. Brent cocked his head at my silence (which, in retrospect, was not a particularly intelligent move as it gave him a foothold and probably convinced the entire hallway that I really did want to have sex with Lizzie) and gave me a look of disbelief. "Unless... you don't actually think she'd want to screw you too, do you?" he asked mockingly.

Now, that comment made me want to slug him for both our honor, my reputation, and, hell, the _man_ part of me that was tired of being undervalued and underestimated. I realized, too, that it was very important I put an end to his little snide comments right here to clear up all that confusion and cut off his argument at the kneecaps. "She's incredibly picky about that sort of thing. You know, standards and whatnot... You know what standards are, right? Those pesky things that prevent women from being interested in you?" I rejoined equally jeeringly, pausing deliberately before continuing. "And, no, I don't, but I know I come before you on that list," I added a moment later, smirking a little.

Brent retorted, "Still dumb enough to think she'd consider screwing her _brother_, are we?" Hell, I **know** she's dumb enough to consider it! Only the other brother, of course... but you don't rub up against someone like a cat in heat unless you want something from them. Of course, I kept this knowledge to myself because then it'd be kind of like proving his point and that was a private matter. Lizzie and I already weren't on speaking terms; I didn't need to make it worse.

I tried not to react, but the testosterone was starting to take over me, and I wound up shrugging nonchalantly. I wanted to leave very badly, but I was frozen there, locked in this staring contest. And I hate crap like this because these kinds of territorial pissing contests are things _Derek_ gets himself into, and I pride myself on keeping a level head. And I don't own Lizzie, and she'd probably be pissed if she even knew we were talking about her like some sort of commodity. Brent stupidly opened his mouth and kept talking, grin widening. "But, hey, if she'll associate with a reject like you, think she'll do me too? Because I've been wanting to get a piece of that ass for a while. And I figure that, if she's desperate enough to nail her brother, why _not_ me, eh?" he taunted, leaning in closer to me.

I rolled my eyes, intending to be cool. Letting him know that he was getting under my skin wasn't going to do me any good. I wanted to hit him when he talked about my sister like a piece of ass, but I refrained, pretending he wasn't talking about her (and, hell, I was still mad at her). "Because you're _mediocre_ in every sense of the word, Brent. For starters, there's the fact that you don't have a brain, and you're not even stupid funny, let alone witty. You're not smooth, and you have no skill in pursuing women or talking. You're not even a nice or decent guy; you're a total douchebag. Furthermore, you lack originality. Sex is obviously the only thing you have on your mind, and you're probably not even that good at it. As a matter of fact, you have no special skills or talents, period, except for glass-etching, which will win you no points whatsoever with Lizzie. Also, Lizzie's ten times more attractive than you are, so you're completely out of your league. And in terms of the guy's she's dated, you're not even that impressive, both physically and athletically. Hell, _I_ could take you in a fight. So, dude, do yourself a favor and go home before you get hurt," I recited calmly, spitefully, of course.

Admittedly, I kind of relished cutting him down like that, so effortlessly. For a good while, Brent sputtered, not knowing what to say. I should've just turned around and left, but, well, I was gloating a little bit. I figured it was owed to me after all the emasculating and demoralizing things that had happened to me recently. I should've known it was only going to go downhill from there. I scoffed at his inability to speak. So, just as I turned to leave, Brent had one last diatribe. "At least I'm not some **sicko** freak like you who'll only be at home inside his whore of a _sister_!" he rejoined viciously. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I whirled back around, throwing my momentum forward, and punched him in the face hard, instinctively, the way Derek had taught me to a long, long time ago. At the time, he was teaching me how to defend myself from bullies and protect my younger sisters. I never thought I'd actually use the technique because, well, me punching someone sounds kind of like a bad joke. I barely registered the sick slap of flesh on flesh contact or a dull cracking sound. Derek had never told me how much it would hurt afterwards, and I'd thrown all the Newtons I had in me into that punch. A metallic clang snapped me out of my trance.

He flew backwards, head thrown back from the blow, slamming against the lockers. I watched as he moved as if in slow-motion. He slumped a little and groaned in pain, rubbing his jaw and glaring daggers at me. I didn't realize it until he gave me that look, but I had my fists up around my face, ready to protect myself from any potential attack on his end. Unlike another man would've, I didn't move to punch him again because I saw no reason in it. I'd defended my point; I'd exploded, and I was in the wrong here. There would doubtlessly be witnesses, and why get myself in more trouble? Nonetheless, I wasn't sorry for punching him. Was it worth it? Maybe... I don't know. It felt pretty damn good, though.

Having never been the instigator of a fight, I wasn't really sure what the protocol was for this moment. I would ordinarily call Derek in a situation like this, but I probably wasn't in deep trouble, and, well, it would look stupid. I glanced around somewhat anxiously. The hallways were mostly deserted, but the few people there were staring at us. I dropped my fist almost guiltily. Did a teacher or authority figure swoop in and drag me off to the vice-principals' office? Certainly I would look more guilty if I walked away from this or ran, but just standing here waiting for Brent the gutless wonder to do anything wasn't exactly intelligent either.

The logical thing to do would be to go to class and stop wasting time here, but I didn't want to be accused of running away like a guilty man. If there's anything I've learned from my siblings, from a brother who never takes responsibility and a sister who always does, it's that I ought to own up to the consequences of my actions. I sighed and waited a minute, debating going to the office and turning myself in. Ultimately, I decided it wouldn't really matter when they called me into the office, but it did matter if I didn't go to class and missed something. "Go to the nurse," I muttered noncommittally, turning my back on him.

I wasn't afraid he'd attack me, not with the way he was clutching his jaw or the lack of response to the whole incident. As I turned to walk away, trying to be the bigger man, Brent shouted after me, "Whether you like it or not, some day she's going to screw somebody who isn't you! And she'll leave your ass for him." It would've been a strong enough sentence on its own, I thought. There was the usual flicker of irritation, but I forced myself to push it down into that ball of fury. That wasn't worth a response; I'd already won this battle.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that my next class was Drama, but I figured going there would be better than standing in the hallway. I might as well wait in here for them to call me to the principal's office, no matter how much I hate the class. I arrived in class a few moments later, although not quite as stealthily as I wished. Everyone was in the middle of one of those lame acting exercises, so Mrs. Zeldin noticed my arrival immediately. She frowned upon seeing me. "Edwin, are you late because of what happened last class?" she asked in a patronizing tone that reminded me of a preschool teacher, like I'm some little kid who avoids his problems. I'm not the one in denial. I barely managed to avoid rolling my eyes at her.

"No," I said tersely, eyes sliding automatically to meet Rebecca's defiant gaze. I exhaled hastily. "I got held up in the hallway," I muttered as means of an explanation, setting my things on a chair. A prickly look passed over Mrs. Zeldin's face, and I could tell she liked me even less than Derek. As impartial as teachers are supposed to be, they're not, and you can always more or less tell how they feel about you. She came over to me, presumably to explain something, and then she looked down.

She took a step back and gasped dramatically, of course, gesturing to my hand. "Edwin, is that blood?" she asked disbelievingly. I automatically jerked my head down to look at my hand. Sure enough, there was a streaky red blotch on the back of my hand, in addition to my bruised and slightly scraped knuckles. I blinked. Damn you, Brent, I thought. There was still, however, the slim chance that he wouldn't go to the principal about it. Brent is well-known for being an asshole, and there are numerous reasons why the witnesses wouldn't report it.

I swallowed awkwardly, looking at it. "So it is, Ms. Z," I murmured, "So it is." She continued to look dismayed. I forced a type of smile. "Can you give me a tissue, please?" I asked politely. Mrs. Zeldin asked if I needed to see the nurse, and I said no. She gave me a tissue, and I wiped the blood off as she told me about our next activity. Crazy and foolhardy woman that she is, Ms. Z decided that she wanted Rebecca and I to exploit our natural tension by acting out a scene for the class. Since Mrs. Z likes to fancy herself a playwright, she'd written it up herself. I can only hope I'm not singing a country-western song.

Or reciting something I already said. Rebecca hated me more than usual because she was more able to express her hatred, as Lizzie was also mad at me. It was clear from the beginning that she was very into her role. In the few minutes Mrs. Z had given us, she'd flawlessly memorized her lines, whereas I was still awkwardly reading off of my script. She stepped forward brazenly. "You were with _her_ last night, weren't you?" she screamed accusingly, pained voice resounding off of the walls. Rebecca kept coming forward, and my eyes darted between her and the script in my hands. "I know what you do with her, you know. I know what you do with her late at night. In the dark, in the quiet, where no one can hear," she said, shifting. Genuine fury punctuated her words, but no one else could tell that. She sneered at me, "You think you're _so_ smart... but everybody knows your dirty little secret."

Her ice cold eyes flickered darkly, having an unnerving effect on me. It was doubly unnerving because I knew she was talking about Lizzie, even if the lines weren't written with that express purpose in mind, not that I presume to understand the way Mrs. Zeldin's neurons function or interact. I looked down at my lines, avoiding her too-intense gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about..." I said, intending to sound strong but failing a little because she'd reminded me of both Lizzie and what I'd done with Tanya the other night, which left me feeling even more unsettled.

Rebecca's hand reached out and slapped my arm hard, really slapped me, too, not pretend like a good actress might. It hurt, but I didn't show it because I didn't want to give her the upper hand. She moved closer still, drawing up all of her height in an attempt to intimidate. I was surprised at the blow, a little angry, but her attempts at intimidation fell short. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You slept with her. And it isn't _right_," Rebecca edged in sharply. Her voice grew progressively more hysterical, until it was a pitch-perfect study in the beginnings of psychosis. She shook her head, starting to look a bit deranged. Guilt churned in my stomach... what she'd said about it not being right didn't sit too well with my stomach.

It said in the damn script I was supposed to move closer to her, to touch her or whatever, but I didn't want to, so I walked towards her slowly, hesitant to put my hands on her. I was also fairly worried she'd ad lib and smack me. Mrs. Zeldin was watching, though, so I was forced to lightly put my hands on her arms. Rebecca, in a rare moment of breaking character, looked absolutely disgusted that I was touching her. Believe me, she wasn't the only one. "I know what this is really about," I found myself saying, as was written in the script. My voice was more of a raspy whisper than the cocky, self-assured caress Ms. Z had in mind, but it served its purpose. I slid my hands up her arms and bony shoulders. Apparently me touching Rebecca revolts me too, because all I could think about was how wrong this felt (not _wrong _like it is with Lizzie, in a painful, deeply disturbing way, but a prickly kind of wrong). My thoughts cycled around a single word repeating, like a square root: ew, ew, ew...

"You're mad about that night. That I didn't call you." In that moment, I consciously tried to emulate Derek and every other asshole guy I'd ever met. A brief thought of Brent flickered through my head, and I achieved the proper casual, flirtatious tone.

Rebecca jerked away from me, looking positively infuriated, but I hung on. "Don't flatter yourself," she insisted defiantly. I glanced down and noticed that that wasn't in the script. She was supposed to say that of _course_ she was mad. She wasn't supposed to be this angry. She crossed her arms over her chest, baring her teeth at me. "Like I even remember that night. I've forgotten all about it," she muttered dismissively. This also was not in the script, so I looked at Mrs. Z, expecting her to jump in at any moment, but she just motioned for us to go on. "I'm surprised you even mentioned it," she murmured, seeming calmer, as if she was in a fog. "I didn't think you'd even remember."

To be honest, she was really starting to freak me out. It wasn't like Rebecca to forget or mess up her lines, and it wasn't like her to be vulnerable, even in her acting. There was always a core of steel underneath the role, a hidden strength. Her voice was oddly quiet, strangely reflective. I didn't really know what to do because I couldn't very well say the line I was supposed to say, and I'm not good off-book anyway. I don't adapt too well to changing circumstances if I can't just go with the flow. "How could I forget?" I lamented, thinking of that night with Tanya, which is unbelievably better than the idea of sleeping with Rebecca.

"You never so much as acknowledged it! You acted like it _never_ happened!" Rebecca shouted accusingly, throwing her hands in the air. Her eyes glittered unpleasantly. I backed away from Rebecca, hands in the air. I wondered at what I could say to get out of this increasingly uncomfortable situation. It felt a little odd, and it was beginning to feel a little less like an act... She was hyperventilating a little, almost shaking with rage. She walked towards me menacingly. "How could you just leave and never look back? How could you just... _forget_... like that?" she demanded, breaking out in tears. To my horror.

My eyes slid to Mrs. Z uncertainly, as if she would do her job and, heaven forbid, offer me some advice. She did not, merely deciding to nod encouragingly. "Forget about what?" I settled on finally. It accurately reflected my confusion and not my thoughts of hatred towards Rebecca. She's probably enjoying putting me in this awkward situation. I say this because when I said that, Rebecca charged me and started hitting me. Contrary to every stupid chick flick in which the girl goes a little crazy and starts hitting our burly stud of a hero, it actually hurt (probably because I am not a burly stud). She was hitting me indiscriminately in what was seemingly a fit of emotion, but she was hitting to injure with hard fists.

She hit me in the face a couple times, flailing like that, sob-shouting. "_Me_! You forgot about me!" she wailed, not unlike a banshee or particularly screechy emergency alarm. As soon as I could, or, rather, as soon as I dared, I shoved her away from me. Rebecca's sobs grew in volume and hysteria, and she gave me a guilting, dirty look, clutching her arms around herself protectively. That was the only reason I didn't feel bad about pushing her away.

"What do you _want_ from me?" I shouted, not even acting anymore. Rebecca's sudden inability to stick to the script bothered me immensely, but Ms. Z seemed to be eating it up, the real drama of it all. At that point, I wanted to punch Mrs. Zeldin in the face too, despite being a woman and my teacher.

Predictably, by that point, Rebecca did not directly address or answer my question. She calmed enough to catch her breath and wiped her eyes like she was trying to be tough. The tears were certainly real, too real for me. It left me with the uncertain, unsteady feeling that I'd done something wrong. "Why was it so _easy_ for you?" she spat disdainfully, coming towards me again. There was something haunting and dangerously unstable about the way she walked towards me. She stopped when she was just in front of me, fingers scraping my chin a little too hard. "Was it easy for you to pretend like it never happened because I repulse you? I bet you crawled away and buried yourself deep inside her _tight_, **hot**, little body and screwed the memory away, right?" Rebecca murmured darkly, in a raspy sort of drawl that probably turned on every guy in the room.

I won't deny that her voice didn't have some kind of visceral effect on me, but whatever effect there was was spoiled by the menacing gleam in her eye, and the cold feeling that slid down my spine. Somehow, I knew that was a direct reference to Lizzie, and it made me feel funny. A thought flitted across my mind that I didn't dare acknowledge and cast away out of fear. It was the second time someone had made a reference to that... to... God, it's so sick I can't even say it... but I wasn't mad like I would've been with Brent. It was a little different somehow, more unsettling, less easy to forget and dismiss. I was about to say something then, because I had to, even if it was stupid, just to show her it wasn't true, that I wasn't terrified of these peripheral thoughts, when the door flew open and a breathless office aide called my name.

"Edwin Venturi? Is there an Edwin Venturi in this class?" I turned at the sound of my name, but Mrs. Zeldin looked very put-off. Her hands had previously been clasped in rapture, but now they clenched into irritated fists at her sides. I was relieved to feel that this arrival had lessened some of the oppressive tension in the room.

She huffed and stalked towards the unfortunate messenger. "_What_? We are in the middle of a breakthrough here!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest theatrically and giving the poor aide a look of unadulterated annoyance. She made a sweeping gesture to Rebecca and myself. Rebecca, for her part, was still glowering at me, looking upset and similarly vexed. I avoided her gaze and started turning away, knowing why the messenger was here.

The poor guy swallowed nervously but managed to hold his ground. He glanced at his sheet and then back up at Mrs. Zeldin. "Well, it says here that he's supposed to be in this class, and the Principal needs to see him. I'm supposed to make sure he gets to Lassiter's office," he told her matter-of-factly. Mrs. Zeldin turned to stare at me, but I was nonplussed. It is neither the first time nor the last that I will go to Lassiter's office.

By this point, I was moving to get my things already. "Well, can't you see that he's busy acting? Whatever Principal Lassiter has to say to him can clearly wait. The theatre, however, cannot!" Mrs. Zeldin decreed. I cocked an eyebrow, doubting her ability to override the principal. I was also somewhat surprised that she didn't ask me what this was all about.

The messenger looked like he was about to say something, but I figured this would go a lot easier for him if I just fessed up to it. I picked up my things and started walking towards them, passing by an extremely ticked off Rebecca. I stopped just in front of Mrs. Zeldin. "Actually, Ms. Z, he's right. This _can't_ wait. If I don't go now, what's to stop me from leaving before meeting with Lassiter?" I told her succinctly. I was trying to be dignified and avoid mentioning that I'd gotten in a fight with Brent, but clearly Mrs. Z thought that explanation was inadequate. The look she gave me and the push she accompanied it with both said she thought I should go back to acting, and that she knew I was just trying to get out of her class.

I sighed and exchanged glances with the rather flustered aide, who clearly was not used to dealing with Mrs. Zeldin. "Look, Mrs. Z, I punched a guy. That's why I have to go into the office. I hurt someone, and I need to accept responsibility for my actions. End of story," I told her quietly, a bit shamefully. It was still hard for me to believe I'd gotten myself into a fight, but there it was. Even Derek hadn't ever gotten into a fight off the ice. Derek liked to charm and talk his way out of potential showdowns and win fights with words and mindgames. In fact, Derek tended to be remarkably even-tempered and non-reliant on physical violence, even when he had the opportunity or right to use force, such as when Truman made out with Vicky.

If Lizzie had a boyfriend who did that to her, I'd punch him if Lizzie didn't get to him first (because, let's face it, we all know she could do way more damage than I ever could). I just got lucky with Brent because he's a pansy with a glass jaw. But Derek's cool, emotionless facade is, well, a part of him, but it covers up the depth of his feelings... because he might feel less but he also feels more than other people, not that that makes sense. Mrs. Zeldin gaped at me. "_You_ got in a fight? Oh, don't make me laugh, Edwin!" she trilled before breaking out into musical laughter.

Her disbelief offended me, like, what, she thought I didn't have all this pent-up aggression in me just waiting to get out? The office aide gave me a look of sympathy, obviously realizing that Ms. Z is nuts. Then, once she calmed down, she leveled me with a stern glance and said, sounding rather outraged, "I know you want to get out of my class, Mr. Venturi, and stop acting, but it pains me to see that you'd stoop to such levels as lying and bribing an innocent freshman to do it! You're more like your brother than I thought!"

By that point, I was fairly frustrated. I wasn't lying. And, to add insult to injury, she'd compared me to Derek and insulted my intelligence! I mean, sure, it's no secret that I hate her class and think acting is completely bogus... as I consider myself to be a genuine person, and, unlike my brother, I'm not a masterful liar... but I wouldn't go to that extreme to get out of this immensely unpleasant acting session with Rebecca. I would have clearly thought up something better, had I known that I'd be doing this with Rebecca and that she'd be as unstable as uranium doing it, but given that I am not clairvoyant, I did not.

The office aide flashed his official pass. "Actually, ma'am, he's not lying. I am a _real_ office aide, thank you, and Principal Lassiter sent me himself. I saw the guy he punched at the Nurse's office on the way here, and he didn't look too good. So can you please just allow Edwin to go? 'Cause if you don't, I'm gonna hafta put that in my report, and I really don't want to fill out that kind of paperwork," he interjected frankly. I appreciated the veiled threat intended for her. Mrs. Z looked grumpy, but she waved him off and gave me a look that said more unpleasant consequences would come out of me leaving, but at that point, I didn't really care.

I followed the messenger out, though I didn't need to. I knew the way to the Principal's office by heart, but, unlike my brother, I didn't have a reserved seat. I tapped the aide on the shoulder, and the poor guy, despite being much taller than me, looked rather frightened. Had I become someone who terrified innocent freshman? "Thanks for helping me out back there," I told him, slightly unnerved by the worried glance on his face.

He smiled hesitantly, shrinking back, and just shrugged. "Look, I work in the office, and I know about you... the things you've done. I've seen your file. You're a _legend, _Venturi," he told me. His tone was equal parts reverence and fear. I opened my mouth to tell him he probably had the wrong one, but the aide cut me off. "And I know that a lot of what you've done can't even be traced back to you." I blinked, surprised, but he continued. "Anyway, why did you punch that guy?" he asked suddenly.

This surprised me most of all out of this bizarre little conversation. I shook my head a little. "The guy's an asshole, and he's been getting on my nerves since summer of seventh grade when he stole my first girlfriend. And today he went too far and said some stuff about me that I just didn't have to take. So I punched him," I told him succinctly. The guy nodded, as if my vague speech had made some kind of sense. We were silent for the few seconds left of my walk until parting in the office.

He waved, handed one of the secretaries the slip he'd been given, and told me good luck. The ladies in the office all knew me pretty well, too, so they said hello and motioned me into Lassiter's office. I walked in with my head held high, despite the faint feeling of shame that came to me. Lassiter's back was to me at first, but then he whirled his chair around dramatically (because he liked that sort of thing) and smiled at me. He shouldn't like me, given the stunt I pulled at Derek's graduation, or when I streaked the Homecoming Game (but they can't prove that was me!), but he does. "Edwin, welcome. As always, make yourself at home... That's your usual seat, I believe," he said, motioning around the office a bit pompously.

I sat down in the aforementioned seat and bent down to set my things on the ground. "It's good to see you again," he admitted pleasantly. I think he likes me well, for the obvious reason—my relation to Derek—but also, I give him less trouble, and hell, being a principal is a boring job. He likes people who keep it lightly. He rose and held out his hand. Similarly, I stood and shook his hand. "How are you, Ed?" he asked warmly.

Shrugging, I told him the truth, "Eh, I've been better. How about you, Lassie?" He smiled at the nickname and said he'd been good but bored lately. Then, as if a puppeteer were controlling our strings, we both sat down at the same time, and Lassiter opened up my folder and scanned the contents of the newest report. He glanced up at me almost disbelievingly a few times while perusing the document but then set it down.

The look on his face was more serious than I was accustomed to. He frowned a little. "I must admit I'm surprised, Edwin," he confessed. "Not to see you, of course..." he added quickly. I could only nod in agreement. I'm certainly no stranger to this office. Lassiter sighed and looked kind of disappointed, which really caught me off-guard. "It's just... Violence isn't really your style," he said finally.

I nodded, hanging my head a little. I wasn't especially proud of it, yet, at the same time, I felt it was a necessary evil. I could only sit by for so long and let people say nasty things like that about me and Lizzie. And, really, the thing that made me snap wasn't what he said about me. He called my sister a whore, and then that was that. I can only stand so much of that either, and Lizzie's my little sister too... I have to protect her, just as I would protect Marti. I shrugged, though, attempting to be nonchalant about it. "Neither is getting caught, Lassie. There's a first time for everything."

Lassiter sighed and gave me this look like he was wondering what he was supposed to do with me. "Getting in a fight, punching someone, hurting someone... that's a serious offense. You know that, Edwin," he continued, sounding very sober all of a sudden. I nodded. Of course I knew that. I'd been bullied, for cripes' sake! My brother fought for a living, just about, on the ice. I raised an eyebrow, and Lassiter cleared his throat and went on. "Brent, the boy you um, fought with... he's got a broken jaw, and he was bleeding a little, and you might've loosened a tooth."

I took this in and then forced a little smirk, crossing my arms over my chest. A faint feeling of nervousness bottled up in me, and I knew I could get in serious trouble here. "I'd hardly call it a fight. I punched him once, he went down, and I left," I replied calmly, a bit mockingly, even. Lassie threw a vaguely exasperated look at me, but what else could I really say? I wanted to ask him what my punishment was already, but Lassiter wanted to talk some more.

He peered through my folder again, turning pages and searching for something. I sat back, content to let him do this. I had a vague urge to text Lizzie but stopped myself, remembering she was furious with me. She wouldn't do anything and probably wouldn't care, and I cringed to think of what I'd have to tell her about punching Brent. Finally, Lassiter looked up with a different sort of... hopeful look on his face. "This is your first fight, right?" I nodded patiently, and a contemplative look crossed Lassiter's face as he regarded me and the situation. "You're a good kid, Edwin, a good student, headed for valedictorian territory, even... but you get yourself in so much _trouble_," he muttered, shaking his head.

I could and did agree with that, but I was more relieved to hear he thought I'd be valedictorian. Take that, Sandy Chang! I shrugged. "I'm a Venturi... Trouble finds me," I told him quite simply. My life is a case-study in Murphy's Law. Things go badly, and then they get even worse. One bad event sets off some kind of chain reaction or domino effect, and then everything happens at once, and suddenly I'm buried in crap up to my neck, and it _stinks_! Lassiter pursed his lips, but I could tell he was trying hard not to smile.

He closed the folder, staring at it for a moment before looking up at me. There was a persuasive, determined look in his eyes. "I'm sure we could be more lenient, Edwin, if you just apologize to him..." he offered hopefully, trailing off expectantly.

I knew it was stupid before I did it, but I couldn't stop myself from shaking my head no hard. "**No, **I won't apologize. I'm not sorry, so why bother lying about it? He had it coming," I pronounced unapologetically, uncompromisingly. He was surprised, to say the least, because being uncompromising really isn't my style either. Lassie blinked at me in a stupor, rather horrified, for a solid minute before regaining his senses and attempting to come to a resolution.

"Edwin," he began slowly, "why did you hit him?"

"What did Brent tell you?" I rejoined swiftly. For some reason, that question made me particularly antsy, as every time I heard it, I remembered what Brent had said that caused me to punch him.

Lassiter shrugged. "He said you two were having a typical conversation, and that you've had it out for him for years and were just looking for an excuse to punch him... but of course I don't believe that you just flipped out and attacked him, so why don't you tell me your side of the story?" he said diplomatically, encouragingly.

I did not particularly want to tell him, but I shrugged and started talking anyway. I didn't really have much of a choice, and I don't want one stupid punch to ruin my chances for getting into a good school and all that. "Brent and I have never gotten along; that's true, but he wasn't innocent. He was trying to goad me into fighting with him, I think. He kept saying things, nasty things that made me angry, and then I said things back... and eventually he went too far and said something that pushed me over the edge," I explained emotionlessly, not looking at Lassiter.

He made a small noise, as if all this was percolating in his brain, and then... I guess he realized I was holding some things back, hiding a little, so he asked, "What did he say?" I glanced up at him then, suddenly, and I knew there was no way in hell I was going to answer that question, at least not entirely honestly. The mere thought of those words made me angry enough to explode like Krakatoa! And I didn't want to say them out loud because that was dragging entirely too much of my personal business into a conversation with our principal, whom I didn't want to make inquiries into my family's relationships.

Lassiter just kept staring at me, and eventually I couldn't take that piecing stare anymore because this impromptu staring contest was making me go cross-eyed. "He said something about my sister, okay? We were talking about my sister, and he was saying obscene things, and I'm not going to let anyone say stuff like that about my _sister_!" I blurted suddenly, surprising the both of us with my outburst. I was still so frustrated, you know, and Lassiter looked more than a little worried at that. He frowned again, but he bit his lip like he understood where I was coming from and the need to protect my sister.

He nodded sympathetically. "Well, I can understand that. I'm sure anyone could understand that..." he pronounced, pausing for a moment in thought. His eyes got a little more animated, and I could tell that he really did want a solution to this, for my sake. Because, for whatever reason, Lassiter actually likes me and wants to help me succeed, which is kind of screwed up if you think about it, given all the crap me and the rest of my family have pulled on him. "Did he make threats against your sister, because, you know, he could get in trouble for that..."

I shook my head and gave him a look because he really should've known better. "No... Brent may be stupid, but Lizzie can kick anyone's ass, and he knows better than to do something like that," I told him shortly with a hint of pride for my sister. Lizzie's the one with a history of getting into fights, but they're almost always in self-defense or because she's sticking up for someone else. She's not at all afraid of conflict or any kind of physical confrontation because she either deescalates the situation or takes out the threat. And after what happened to Tony... guys know not to mess with her, smart ones, at least.

Lassiter sighed wearily and leaned forward a little, trying to endear himself to me so that I'd tell him. "Then what did Brent say?" he repeated, failing to understand why I'd snapped. I knew he'd understand if I told him, maybe, that he'd excuse it, but I didn't want to discuss it. Just saying those words out loud, I felt, would further demean myself and Lizzie.

"I _really_ don't want to talk about it," I told him shortly, huffing out a breath. Stupidly, I didn't look at him, thus making him more suspicious and a little less willing to try and crack this nut. At this point, I seem uncooperative and quarrelsome, and all his bargaining is getting him nowhere.

He lost a little patience as the seconds ticked by like hours. I could feel the tension in the room rise to the surface, stretching like a line, taut and unbroken. The room transferred some of the anxiety to me too, and I found myself fidgeting a little and playing with my hands. "Edwin, in order for me to figure out a solution that's fair to you both, I need to have _all_ of the information..." he stressed carefully, pausing deliberately, "So you kind of have to tell me." He understood my quest for the truth, holistic methods of thought, and desire for clear, raw facts and played it against me. He held his hand up tentatively, smiling faintly. "I promise I won't tell anyone what he said..." he continued quietly, meaningfully.

Or, at least, it would've been meaningful if I wanted to tell another living soul what he'd said. It wasn't a secret, but it still was something so personal and... sensitive to me. "Fine," I grunted, glancing up at him. I knew I had to tell him something, and so I said the vaguest truth I could bring myself to utter. "...He said some sexual things about her, and I just wasn't going to stand for that. Okay? I don't even like thinking about what he said, and I'm _really_ not comfortable talking about it," I continued shortly, looking back at him blankly.

He nodded again because he couldn't really do anything and looked fairly conflicted. He sighed, steepling his fingers and staring contemplatively into space for a moment. "Look, Ed, you've really got me in a bind here. It's your first fight, but it's not your first offense, and your reason... compelling and completely understandable as it is... it isn't self-defense. But suspending you—in or out of school—wouldn't do any good..." he murmured, trailing off. An awkward silence ensued for a few more moments before his eyes widened. "Okay, tell you what, Edwin, I've got the solution," he informed me, pointing his finger in the air. "You can work it off by helping some teachers after class for like, a month, okay? I'll ask around and tell you who you'll be working with later," He decreed, proud of himself for thinking of it.

I nodded, accepting that solution. While I was slightly worried that I might be asked to help Mrs. Zeldin or Coach Anderson, I could just as easily be asked to help Mr. Parsons or Mr. Hennessey, which I wouldn't mind at all. Mr. Parsons' cool, but he, like every physicist or physics teacher I have ever met, is a little out there. As interested as I am in quantum mechanics, I'm not quite like that, not a distracted, mad scientist with no time to comb his hair. My trains of thought don't get derailed in quite the same way, though I have the same respect for mathematics. I tend to prefer dealing with concepts a bit more known and widely understood; I prefer the tangible.

Unfortunately for me, Lassiter wasn't finished. "And," he announced suddenly, "Since you're so reluctant to talk about things, you're going to start weekly sessions with Dr. Greebie, the guidance counselor... to talk and discuss things such as controlling your anger and your disrespect of authority." I frowned because Lassiter sounded very much like the administrator he was, and then as it sunk in, I found myself getting annoyed. Lassiter lowered his reading glasses and looked at me. "You do know Dr. Greebie, don't you?"

I smiled tightly, nodding. "Of course. He helped me with my university applications." I neglected to tell him about Casey, how she'd visited him frequently, at least once a week but sometimes several times a day in high school (I suppose he would call that compulsive), still talked to him once a week, and held his opinion in very high esteem. I also failed to mention how he'd come over for dinner a couple times over the years, or the fact that I was pretty sure his doctorate was on blended families and conflict between stepsiblings, or, in other words, Derek and Casey. I had a nasty feeling he would be all too interested to hear about and analyze the presently bizarre state of our family.

Lassiter smiled at me congenially, clasping his hands. "Good. So, I'm going to recommend that you go home for the rest of the day, and your first appointment with Paul will be about this time tomorrow, all right?" he continued cheerily. I nodded dully, not exactly pleased with the punishment but not really disappointed either, and I said goodbye to Lassie and headed out to the car. It was really the best I could get, and, hell, it got me out of my godforsaken acting class for one day. I wondered idly if I could convince Paul to schedule our appointment during Acting by tricking him into thinking I have Study Hall that period.

I drove home because I'd driven there that day and had the keys. By that point, most of my schoolday was already over with, so I had an hour or so to myself before, of course, Marti the obnoxious middle-schooler stomped into the room. She was in a snit about some idiotic fight she had with Morgan, and since no female relatives or friends were around to here her bitch, it fell to me to listen. I was, needless to say, less than sympathetic, and so Marti just swore at me and stomped upstairs to go call Naomi. Whatever.

A few minutes after that, Nora called and said something had come up at work and asked me if I could please pick Sebastian up from day-care. I said yes, of course, but I did wonder why she'd called me instead of Lizzie or Derek. Then I remembered that Lizzie was still at school, currently in the middle of swim practice (which led, invariably, to thoughts of Lizzie dripping wet in a skintight Speedo), and that I'd have to pick her up too. I sighed, put on my coat, and headed back to school.

Usually I waited around for Lizzie, occupying myself in the library or by doing homework, unless she had other arrangements. It was rare for me to leave without at least telling her. By the time I got there, they weren't quite done, so I got to sit in the stands and watch them do laps for a while. It was fascinating, the way their bodies all moved in harmony, heads side to side, in and out of the water, arms and legs sliding through the water, splashing and starting and stopping. Lizzie was in her usual lane and over a lap ahead of everyone else, which was unusual. She seemed to be putting particular vigor into this practice, as opposed to saving up her energy for the meets as was typical for her. She really does have amazing lung capacity and outstanding endurance from all the sports she plays. She runs a mile faster than I do.

She was obviously doing more laps than the others and probably could've stopped, but Lizzie kept plowing through the water without pause until the coach blew her whistle and told everyone to hit the locker rooms. As with hockey, Liz wasn't team captain, although the team and her coach had both voted her captain. She'd begged off, saying she was too busy and that it wasn't fair for someone with so many other commitments to be captain, but Liz still acted largely like a captain, welcoming other members to the squad, staying late, motivating her team, pushing herself to the limits. It comes naturally to her, and everyone she's on a team with can't help but respect her for it.

This meant that Lizzie waited diplomatically for the other girls, watching patiently them in case they slipped or fell, to climb up the ladder before grabbing the rungs and hoisting herself up. Similarly, I was watching her with rapt attention, making sure she didn't fall back into the water. I watched in awe as she emerged from the water, which flooded down her and trickled over her body in rivulets, like little rivers, and shook herself off. Beads of water still clung to her skin, legs, shoulders, arms, bared collarbone. She wore an old, worn blue practice swimsuit—a one-piece with a fairly conservative neckline that bared a patch of her shoulders and the middle of her back behind. For meets, Lizzie, along with the rest of the team, wears regulation swimsuits in school colors, either red or black. The swimsuit she wore was thin and tight, so much so that I could see the outline of her bellybutton, the juts of her hipbones, the way her breasts were pressed up inside. I could also tell that she was cold, both from the swimsuit (which made me feel dirty and unpleasantly hot to look at it) and the way she was faintly shivering.

She stopped for a second to talk to the coach, pulling off her goggles and swim cap before walking over to the rest of the team. A teammate handed her a towel, and Lizzie accepted it gratefully, rubbing down her legs, arms, and thighs. They started to head towards the locker rooms upon drying off, and I took this as my opportunity to approach her, hustling down the bleachers and across the floor towards her.

I didn't have to speak because Lizzie saw me. She stopped in her tracks for a moment and merely looked at me before shaking her head and turning away from me, beginning to walk again. Can we say shut down? I walked after her, but Lizzie continued pointedly ignoring me. I tried shouting after her, but even wet and barefoot, she can still outrun me. So, without thinking, I followed her into the girls' locker room. Admittedly, that wasn't one of my better ideas, but I needed Lizzie to come with me. "Liz, we need to talk," I said, proceeding to follow her.

Liz was walking towards her locker and barely spared me a glance over her shoulder. "What are you doing in here, Edwin?" she asked coolly. Her voice sounded resigned, rather bored, even. She began drying her swim cap and goggles with the towel in her hands. She regarded me for a second with disinterest before turning back to her locker and starting to work at the lock, twisting it from side to side. I opened my mouth to say something but was loudly interrupted by someone.

"This is the girls' locker room! You're not even _allowed_ in here!" an outraged voice exclaimed. I had tunnel vision, so Lizzie was the only person I was looking at, but the comment made me turn. A girl was standing a ways down from us, clad in a towel, hands on her hips. I faintly recognized her as Jordan, a vaguely familiar blonde, sporty girl and acquaintance of Lizzie's who happened to be a bit of a bitch. This, I've noted over the years, is true of most people named Jordan. The only difference between the genders is that the guys are almost universally douchebags or jackasses. I ignored Jordan in much the same way Lizzie had ignored me.

Unfortunately, at this moment, as I was about to talk, the actual captain, Andi Jones, stepped up. She stepped directly in front of me, unafraid of direct confrontation. Andi and I don't really know each other at all, despite her being one of Lizzie's closest friends, but I've seen her around enough to know a bit about her. Andi's a tomboy, and she's very protective of her friends, like any good team leader should be. In addition to her duties as Swim Team Captain, she's on the soccer team with Lizzie. She also happens to be one of the better players, and I'm sure that was one of several factors in Lizzie's decision to support her for captain. Andi crossed her arms over her sports-bra-covered chest. "I could call the coach and tell her we've got a perv in here..." she said menacingly, glowering at me.

It was at that point that I realized what I'd actually done in going into the girls' locker room. Though my initial urge was to protest this slur against my character, I stifled it, because I really did need to talk to Lizzie. I attempted to look past Andi, but Angie blocked her from sight. However, I saw enough to watch Lizzie open her locker and pull her things out. "I just want to talk to my sister," I told Andi brusquely. Then a moment later, I ducked past Andi and wound up on the other side of the bench, directly opposite of Liz, who had her back to me. "Now, come on, Liz, hurry up and get ready. We've got to pick up Sebastian," I entreated hurriedly, casting a glance down at my watch.

Since I've been forgotten at school before, I was fairly anxious to get to Sebastian and assure him that he hadn't been forgotten, and I didn't want him to think he'd been left there. Liz whirled around to face me, shaking her head at me, eyes sparking with anger. As bizarre as it sounds, I was pleased to see that smallest sign of emotion from her. "No. You don't get to talk to me like that, Edwin, and the only reason I'm even talking to you right now is that you followed me into the locker room," she snapped, shaking her finger at me. She waved me away, a cross look appearing on her features. "Now get out."

The low, hostile tone of her voice left no room for question. However, I matched her gaze, even more unwilling to back down."I'm not leaving without you," I barked, crossing my arms over my chest. I smiled wryly. "Now, come on, Liz, hurry it up already. I can stand here all day, but _we_ have a little brother who needs _us_ to pick him up. And I'd prefer not to leave your ass here to get him," I told her coolly, impatiently.

Andi, it seemed, had finally adjusted to the changing circumstances and came around to my side, glowering at me. "You heard her. Get out. You're violating our privacy, and if you stay in here a second longer, I'll go get Coach or see if Lassiter's still around. So I can file a sexual harassment claim," Andi interjected stiffly. She jabbed me hard in the chest with her finger to punctuate her point. Her eyes were blazing at me, and it was more than evident that she meant business.

For a brief moment, I wondered how long it would take her to fulfill those threats. I was sure I could escape before she got Lassiter, at any rate. The only reason I was remotely concerned about getting in trouble was the fact that I was already in disciplinary trouble; otherwise this would just serve to make me look like a preteen Peeping Tom, and Lassie would probably take that "boys-will-be-boys" attitude with me. I took a half-step back from her, not wanting to make it appear as if I were intimidated yet also wanting to get out of her reach, holding my hands up defensively. "For **God's** sake, I'm not getting my rocks off in here! Just waiting for my sister to pull her head out of her ass and come with me," I retorted irritably, jerking my head in Lizzie's direction.

Liz' head whipped around to glare daggers at me. She was in the process of freeing her hair, and she said nothing, merely looked at me like I was scum, making it clear she had no intention of going with me anywhere. I sighed, relenting a little, knowing what I had to do. "Look, if it makes any difference... I'm sorry," I admitted reluctantly, wondering why I hadn't started out with this. Truthfully, I'd been sorry for the whole weekend, and as much as I didn't want to prove her right, as much as I felt I didn't have much to apologize for, Lizzie is way more important to me than winning an argument.

I paused and took a step towards her, holding my hands out. Her gaze softened a little, her features eased. "I said a lot of things, Lizzie, awful things, and you have to know I didn't mean them. I was angry, and I was stupid, but that's no excuse... I was out of line," I told her apologetically. The things I'd said were awful, and those words were what I truly regretted. My actions, sleeping with Tanya, that was in the past and beyond my control, but I didn't have to rise to her bait and say those things. I should've just kept my mouth shut then and accepted her dissatisfaction about Tanya. She'd still probably be mad at me, but at least we'd be talking.

Lizzie paused a moment, biting her lip, and I half-thought she was going to tear into me. Then her lips betrayed the faint hint of an upcoming smile, and I straightened in anticipation, trying not to show that I could read her emotions. "It makes a difference," she told me faintly, the smile just starting to form. "And I don't wanna see you _beg_ or anything, so I guess I forgive you, Ed," she pronounced wryly, casually, allowing herself to grin. Her nose crinkled just a little bit, and I smiled back fondly. I would've hugged her but for the facts that she was still damp and people were staring, as per usual.

She shrugged, taking her clothes out of her locker and throwing the wet things in her gym bag while shooting me glances. "And, okay... I don't really want to disappoint C either... so I'll come with you," Lizzie admitted with a smile. I nodded, and she said she'd be a second. As she straightened her back, Lizzie's fingers deftly undid the hook on the back of her one-piece. I didn't quite realize what she was doing, or else I might've sucked in a breath then. Instead, I was surprised mere moments later when Lizzie straightened, turned around, and then, in a fluid, practiced motion, pulled the wet fabric away from one shoulder and then the other, peeling it away from her skin and pushing it down towards her waist.

As her gesture was rather... unexpected... to say the least, I might've gaped and then stared, or done both at the same time. I could feel the coolness radiating off of her skin, which was kind of waterlogged but probably still smooth, new, and cool like I remembered from all the times we'd been swimming together that summer. It had been a _very_ long time since I'd seen that much of Lizzie, and I'd never really had such a good look or been in such a position to do so. Her breasts were heavier than I remembered, fuller, areolas larger and dark, nipples standing out proudly, skin pale from the water except where the seams were, marking faint red lines in her skin. I so wanted badly to touch her, but it was **wrong**, and we were surrounded by people... and I didn't want to freak her out. And I knew I'd completely lose it if I did. And I didn't have the right to touch her there anyway, I thought, attempting to shake it off. I bit down hard on my bottom lip and just barely resisted the urge.

My head was foggy, like it was filled with cosmic dust obscuring the view, and I felt like I was in some kind of trance. I shifted uncomfortably, wanting to adjust my clothes but knowing that would be too obvious. I was glad, at least, that my heavy clothes masked it. I'll admit, my stare lingered there, on her chest, for a small eternity before following the path downwards. My eyes scanned her stomach, tight and defined, perfectly flat, muscles and ribs visible, stopping at her bellybutton. A few droplets lingered. I realized what I was doing, flustered, and attempted to look away. Lizzie's hand snaked out and grabbed the bra, pulling it on and fastening it in the back unthinkingly. Then, while I was thanking God for small miracles and expecting things to get back to normal, she tugged her swimsuit down and off, stepping out of it and tossing it in the towel.

Something inside of me jumped. The image was burned in my brain, the clammy, pale skin, the curve of her waist, the arches of her hips, the dark—I got harder and bit down on my bottom lip probably hard enough to draw blood. The pain helped ground me and hopefully prevent me from doing something stupid. When she did that, all the things that were running through my head, disjointed memories and ghosts of fantasies, I swear to God I almost came right there. She was _so_ close. My jaw definitely dropped that time, but before I could get my head around it, Lizzie was pulling up a pair of underwear.

I was too busy watching her to notice other people, but at that very moment, I felt a sharp elbow in my side. It was Andi, who had been watching me and was looking at me suspiciously. She was smirking, actually, not at all phased by Lizzie's state of undress. "You were saying?" she remarked pointedly but not quite meanly, raising an eyebrow, obviously calling me out. She leaned in a little and said, enjoying it, "You can pick up your jaw now." I looked around in horror but found that it was just the three of us in this part of the locker room. Apparently the other girls didn't want me to see them naked.

To my mortification, Lizzie glanced up at us, frowning, and rolled her eyes. "What? It isn't like he hasn't seen me naked before! We practically took baths together. He doesn't count," Liz countered, sounding almost bored. She was in the middle of hoisting up her jeans and had little time for a rebuttal before reaching for her shirt. Andi looked rather amused for a moment and then turned to give me a pitying look.

Admittedly, I tried not to be offended by that thoughtless dismissal, since I'd just gotten back on track with her, but I was still offended and vaguely annoyed that she didn't recognize me as a man. I sighed and tried to avoid telling her that she'd invented that past. "We haven't known each other that long," I said instead, shaking my head. I meant to address it to Lizzie, but I wound up saying it to Andi, and it came off defensive. Lizzie turned and made a face at me, nonplussed, before pulling her shirt over her head. For a moment, in fascination, I watched her abdominal muscles flex. Then she bent down, putting her feet on the bench, one after the other, pulling on her boots. I forced myself to look away from the small amount (not enough!) of cleavage that was bared by the v-neck of her t-shirt. She smoothed her clothes, pulling them straight, and then put her hair up in a messy bun.

She stared at me for a minute, picking up her bag and shifting her weight. I stared back, of course. Then Lizzie shook her head, breaking the strange spell of silence that had fallen over us, and cleared her throat. "So are you gonna stand there staring at me for the rest of the day or are we gonna get going?" she asked bluntly, hands on her hips. I smiled somewhat shakily and attempted to awkwardly move past Andi. Lizzie snorted, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, and followed me out of the locker room, no doubt rolling her eyes at me.

We stopped at the car, and I opened the door for her, expecting Lizzie to get in, but she merely stood there. I gave her a quizzical look, asking her if she was coming, and Lizzie held out her free hand. "Buy me a smoothie afterwards, and I think we have a deal, Venturi," she quipped, smirking. I rolled my eyes at the comment that reminded me of our old exchanges in the days when Derek and Casey needed intermediaries. Those days had enabled me to write really good papers on the Cold War. Liz batted her eyelashes at me jokingly, and I took her hand and shook it forcibly, silently agreeing. Liz grinned at me beatifically and then threw her bag on the floor of the Prince, still holding my hand. Then she climbed into the car.

Before she could think about fastening her seatbelt, I leaned down, reaching across her, and fastened it myself. Lizzie pouted up at me, looking a little put-off. "I'm not Sebastian, you know. I can fasten my own seat-belt, Edwin. I can even feed myself too, you know," she retorted somewhat petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest. I ruffled her hair and shut the door (with the most satisfied smile I'd probably worn since that night with Tanya during that night with Tanya) before she could protest. Then I got in the car and started it back up. Liz immediately started fiddling with radio stations, settling quickly on CBC. She liked to hear about world news and that sort of thing; as I like to hear about the latest developments too, I didn't really mind.

It was a ten minute drive to C's daycare, and Lizzie immediately started talking over the radio. "And I mean, for the record, I was pretty out of line too. You know I've been going through a lot, and that I've been really weird and hormonal lately, but it was really wrong of me to take that all out on you," Lizzie said, looking at me. To say the least, I thought, somewhat relieved and appreciative of the apology. She placed her hand on my lower thigh, by my knee, squeezing it affectionately. That made me start a little bit. She paused a moment, licking her lips before saying, "And I'm sorry." I smiled back at her understandingly.

We were stuck at the longest stoplight in all of London. Lizzie's lips quirked upwards at the corners. "You know, I don't think I could've held out much longer," she confessed wryly. When she said that, I felt a little bit better about giving in. I put my hand on top of hers, and it was the most natural feeling in the world. She smiled at me lopsidedly. "It kinda sucked not having you around, Venturi," she told me fondly, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I agreed profoundly with that statement. Not having her in my life was incomprehensible.

I made a face and wiped off excess saliva with the back of my hand, pretending like it bothered me more than it really did. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me. "The feeling's mutual, McDonald," I told her warmly. And then she hit me in the chest because the light was green, so I took off.

My eyes were on the road, absorbing the comfortable silence, when Lizzie spoke up again. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that her arms were crossed over her chest. "Just for the record, just 'cause I forgive you doesn't mean I'm not still a little mad at you. I might love you and everything, but that doesn't mean I forget. Obviously it means we're never going to speak of it again after this moment, but you still had sex with Tanya, and that's gross on so many levels that I don't think I'll _**ever**_be able to look at you the same again. I mean, **ew**, you could do _soooo_ much better!" Lizzie rambled, quite animated. Her tone betrayed that she wasn't quite as mad at me as she'd like to pretend. I threw a bemused glance at her.

"Like who?" I asked, turning into the parking lot for the daycare, trying and failing not to smirk.

I guess Liz knew I was hinting at something (Sylvia!), because she gave me a cross look that was really very serious. She threw her hands in the air as I pulled into an available parking spot. "Like _anyone_!" I snorted and just barely avoided making a crude comment about Tanya's sexual prowess. Or about sex with Tanya in general. We went into the daycare to pick Sebastian up and sign him out, put him back in the car, and then I made good on my promise to buy Lizzie a smoothie ("Remember, Ed, extra raspberries!" "How could I forget?").

She then proceeded to (unintentionally, I hope) torment me by drinking it. Her lips wrapped around the bright red straw, puckering and sucking long and hard, drawing in smoothie. Then she pulled away, tongue darting out to lightly lick the sides of the straw, circling it softly. She dragged her bottom lip against the straw, caught it between her teeth, tilted her head and nudged the straw with her upper lip. She then licked her lips, putting them back on the straw and pulling the straw back and forth. I shifted in my seat, glancing back in the mirror at C before trying to nonchalantly adjust my clothes, pulling them into a more comfortable position against my skin. Liz continued to fiddle with the straw, and I forced myself to look away before I had an accident.

Midway through, she paused, straw in the corner of her lips, to thank me. I told her she didn't have to thank me because we'd made a deal, and that's just what brothers do, but she still smiled and thanked me for being such a good brother before biting down hard on her straw, which, for some reason, made me swallow funny.

I knew we were all right, and that was enough for me, that was what mattered... but I couldn't shake the feeling that it didn't feel quite the same this time.

Loren ;*

So, that gives you something to think about, and, um, I can't really think of anything else to say. Except thanks so much for reading and reviewing—and did I mention how much I adore reviews? 'Cause I do. And, dude, I'm even posting at a reasonable hour and everything!

Hm, except, well, next chapter things get kinda romantic for Edwin. And confusing, of course. Poor guy.


	16. Triple Point

Admittedly, this note is mostly to Shannon, but other people have commented on the characterization of Lizzie in the story, so here it is... Lizzie's confusing and kind of a bitch and (how did someone put it?) borderline sadistic... or, we shall say, for accuracy's sake, less likable because you see her through Edwin's eyes, which act as a lens. So, you kinda have to take Edwin's word for it. So, when Ed is frustrated, confused, and unable to understand Lizzie, that's the Lizzie you see. It might not necessarily be the Lizzie that actually is. If this fic was in Lizzie's point of view, I imagine you'd see a different side of Edwin or Derek because she would interpret their actions according to how she sees them and read into their motivations differently. Like, "Oh, Derek's looking at me and smiling, that must mean he likes what he sees." Or something. I mean, Lizzie comes off that way because, well, speaking as a girl, we're all confused and a bitch sometimes and blind sometimes and unintentionally hurtful and mercurial and instable and sexy sometimes. No person's one thing all the time, you know, and I like to think Ed's like that too, you know. It's just, with him you get to see the thought processes at work. ;)

But I don't think Lizzie acts like she's better than Edwin, and Edwin doesn't think that she acts better than he is, or he wouldn't be friends with her. While they both perceive their relationship differently, both of them view each other as equals. But they are different people, so they think differently and react to each other in different ways. In terms of Edwin always apologizing, that I think is more because he's a man than because he actually did anything wrong. He and Lizzie are both fundamentally good people, but they both make mistakes. And it's a two-way street, because Lizzie apologizes to Edwin too. Like 27 times. Like last chapter she said she was really close to apologizing to him too, and obviously she stopped being mad at him pretty quickly, probably because she missed him. But if it seems like Lizzie is less willing to apologize, it's because of her personality. Lizzie has a more assertive personality than Edwin does, and when it comes to Lizzie, Edwin is, more or less, a pushover. So, of course Edwin's going to be the first to apologize, and of course Edwin will do almost anything she asks of him. And, also, Lizzie only apologizes when she _knows _that what she's done/said has upset Edwin, and Edwin's very personality makes him a lot less likely to tell her when something she's done has upset him. So if Lizzie can't tell, she can't apologize. And, actually, if anything, Lizzie trusts Edwin's judgment and advice more than her own (though, God knows, that doesn't mean she'll listen), which means, on some level, that she thinks Ed is better than she is, or at least acknowledges that he is better at some things and has sounder judgment than she does. But, yeah, in a lot of ways Edwin's situation is pretty pathetic, particularly in the following chapter. But that's more due to the seeming inequality of their relationship and their very different personalities.

Also, in the next few chapters, you get to see a bit more about how they feel about each other, which, yes, I know, sounds odd, since, like, isn't the whole story about that? Gasp. Lol, but no, seriously, in the next few chapters you get to see that Edwin's not the only one who's got mixed feelings about their relationship. And Lizzie's not even drunk or anything. Lol. And you begin to see kind of the set-up and that Ed's starting to figure some things out.

I'm also just gonna start out by saying that I really like this chapter. It's long and dramatic and fun... and there was only one part I didn't really like writing, which I'm sure you'll be able to spot, but whatever. The point of this chapter is that, well, you get to see more of Lizzie interacting with her friends and you see how Edwin interacts with girls, and get to see Lizzie's emotions a bit more. But, yeah, I actually enjoy writing the Lizwin scenes the most, so that's always my favorite part of each chapter. Lizzie likes to surprise me with the things she says and does, which is something that I both love and hate about her. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Triple Point:** The temperature and pressure where three different phases of the same compound coexist in equilibrium.

* * *

It never fails to surprise me, how fast the end of the year approaches. It seems like just yesterday it was October, and here it is December, almost time for Winter Break. The more I learn, the more the concept of time amazes me. Yes, we can measure it... sort of... by adding on numbers arbitrarily, I guess, but what is time, really? A lot can happen in a few moments, and no one has ever fully explored time's properties, I feel. I mean, I would like someone to explain to me why there are times when moments seem to drag on without end. More importantly, I'd like someone to explain how time always manages to get away from me. Maybe this is just the relative aspect of time in action, but of course, one cannot discount that the passage of time is subjective, dependent on the individual and his or her thought processes at the moment in question.

I'm currently holed up in my room since Liz is having a Finals Week sleepover-slash-study-session. She usually has a big sleepover like this once a year, and my presence generally isn't welcome. Since I like to tell myself I've matured, I don't race to spy on them, although it would be _so_ easy. That being said, I do have to come down at some point, and I am generally a frequent guest at the annual sleepover and often involved in the proceedings. Mom and Dad are out of town for the weekend at a bed-and-breakfast, likely having some alone time, whereas Marti and Sebastian are at Derek's. He's done with finals, so he really has nothing to do but practice hockey and have fun with the younger siblings, and I know they'll all have a lot of fun together. I'm surprisingly envious, I guess, because I remember how fun Derek is, and I wish sometimes that I didn't always have to be so serious, that Derek and I could just hang out like that, like brothers.

Of course, I have papers to write and finals to study for, and Lizzie to protect, so here I am. I rose to my feet, cracking my knuckles and my spine. I'd been sitting in the same position for a while now and needed to move. I decided partially out of boredom and partially out of hunger to go downstairs. I hadn't seen any of the girls show up, so I didn't even know it was there, and I didn't figure it would hurt to take a little look-see. I walked downstairs and attempted to stealthily duck through the living room. My attempt failed, as Lizzie and her many friends were sprawled all over the place, doing homework, eating snacks, and chatting. They were half-watching 10 Things I Hate About You (had Casey been there, it would've been Pride and Prejudice instead, without a doubt). There were thirteen of them there, wrapped in blankets, painting nails, leafing through magazines, including my dear sister.

Rebecca was perched disdainfully on the edge of Derek's recliner, closest to Lizzie, as if she thought it contained some sort of disease; Gabby, the only other of Lizzie's friends with ego enough to attempt sitting on the throne, took up the majority of the seat, boxing in an unhappy Rebecca in a little. I'm not Lizzie, so I don't really observe animals, but I do have quite a bit of practice observing the human animal in its natural habitat... and growing up with two teenage girls... is more than enough observation. Rebecca was, for instance, wearing her hair up, which was unusual for her, and she looked fairly aggravated, probably because she doesn't really like Gabby. Gabby Vega is the kind of person who takes up an entire room. She lives up to her name, and, like every other Gabby I've ever met, is talkative, fairly obnoxious, and a ridiculous gossip. Gabby has a big mouth, literally, and big, bouncy hair. To this day, I have no idea why Lizzie is friends with her, only that they've been friends since Liz moved here, more or less. She says that Gabby's fun, but Gabby's voice is kind of nasally and grates on my ears.

Liz herself was sandwiched comfortably between Sylvia, who was reading a fashion magazine and watching the movie, and Charlotte, who was gleefully singing along with Heath Ledger. Charlotte Kilbride is another one of Lizzie's closest friends, and, I must say, she is stunningly attractive. Charlotte's really cool. She gets along with just about anyone, and she's a very interesting person, very lively, very social. She's always got something funny to say. Charlotte loves to laugh, too, and she really knows how to light up a room. At that moment, Sylvia said something witty to her, a wry smile on her lips, and Charlotte giggled, tossing her wavy black hair. I realize that this description makes it sound like I'm in love with her, but I'm not. I really respect her, and she has a kind of social ease which I admire... and, yeah, maybe there was a brief period where I had a crush on her, but how couldn't I? She's pretty, funny, sweet, and talented. She's kind of artsy without being a hipster, musically talented and trendy, the life of the party.

Anya and Danielle LeFevre-DuBois rounded out the rest of the couch; Danielle was bent over a textbook, explaining something to Anya, who was nodding and stuffing herself with popcorn. She pushed her long auburn hair out of her eyes and smiled faintly. Don't get me wrong, the majority of Lizzie's friends are smart, but Danielle is sort of the smartest one. She's kind of bookish and shy, pretty though unfortunately lacking in self-confidence. I suppose I can't really blame her for that, though, with friends like Rebecca, Lizzie, Charlotte, Sylvia, and, even, to a lesser extent, Gabby. If you're a girl, and you have friends like that, all popular, all extremely attractive (minus Gabby), all very talented in their own spheres, well, I can see how that would make you insecure. It's kind of how Liz and I felt growing up with Casey and Derek. And I imagine that having a friend like Rebecca just chips away at your self-esteem.

I regret not going out with Danielle, because I did have a chance, back after the break-up with Michelle, and we really do have a lot in common. It's unusual, actually, that Lizzie and Anya are friends. You see, Anya and Tanya happen to be fraternal twins (yes, their parents were very creative). They're sisters, and they do look fairly alike, but the difference is that Anya is kind of... lighter, brighter. Anya smiles and laughs more. She's a little shorter, a little more solid, a little more real, less harsh, sweeter. She wears make-up and dresses like a girl, but I guess some would say she's not quite as stunning as her slightly older sister. That's not what matters, though... what matters is that she's millions of times more pleasant than Tanya. She's infinitely patient and good at mediating, having grown up with a domineering personality like Tanya.

However, like her sister and Lizzie, Anya's also a jock. She's in track with Liz, and she plays side-by-side with Tanya as a winger or defender. She might be softer than Tanya, but when she's on the ice, she's just as aggressive as her sister... and my own sister, admittedly.

On the floor, leaning up against the couch, Christine Caruso and Helen Laconidas were discussing boys and giving each other manicures. Christine is, ironically, a super feminist and environmentalist, kind of blunt, but her view on sex is so liberal that she's well, kind of slutty. Helen tossed her golden hair, smiling beautifully at something Christine had just said. With sky blue eyes, rosy cheeks, lightly tanned skin, and long, bright locks, and, of course, an amazing body, Helen is every guy's wet dream, even above Rebecca. She's easily the most beautiful girl in school, popular with the boys like her namesake, but nonetheless somewhat vapid and well, kind of disappointing once you get to know her. She's a nice enough girl, I suppose.

Cheryl was leaning against the table, right by the TV, book open in her lap, smiling politely and listening patiently to Sandy Chang ramble about something extremely boring. Ironically, it was Sandy Chang who ruined my entrance. She looked up, saw me, and started to say something. It was weird, because Sandy was actually a bit more dolled up than usual, no doubt to impress the other girls. Her normal style is plain and fairly preppy, hair just brushing her shoulders, black and shiny like lacquer.

Off to the side, around the back of the couch, Andi and Lakeisha were playing a competitive, somewhat violent-looking board game. Andi was wearing sweatpants, a zip-up sweatshirt, and a headband. Lakeisha Jackson is the captain of the girls' basketball team and a great shot, tough too. Her hair was back in braids, and, like Andi, she was wearing sweats, albeit a pair that was somewhat more stylish. Lakeisha's all limbs, long, muscular arms and legs thrown apart. She's very fond of animals, particularly lizards, and also in our school's Green Club, along with Lizzie and Christine. I also heard, fairly reliably, that Lakeisha also owned a large python, which didn't particularly surprise me. I upset their game when I tripped over them in an effort to get away from Sandy and all the estrogen I could feel buzzing in the air.

And then, in the span of one slightly painful moment, I wound up with the glares of three angry women on me. Yes, that includes Rebecca, who currently looked like she wanted to claw my eyes out... but what else is new? "Liz-_zie_, your stupid brother wrecked our game!" Andi whined, scowling at me. I started or, rather, attempted to apologize, but Andi already didn't really like me. Lakeisha was a little annoyed, but she didn't really care too much. Liz whirled around to look at me, mouth open. She frowned and asked me what I was doing here somewhat irritably. I motioned to the kitchen and told her I was just getting some food, and then I left before they could eat me or something.

It turns out that that awkward little cameo and then leaving them alone was, unsurprisingly, somewhat of a mistake. It gave them time to plot against me, and plenty of them had reason. Rebecca hates me; Andi was mad at me for ruining the game and the locker room incident; Gabby knows I don't like her; I dumped Helen; I'm standing in the way of Sandy getting valedictorian, and I tried to blackmail her; Lizzie's still annoyed at me because I slept with Tanya, and I have no doubt that Anya knows about what happened with me and her sister. So, instead of exiting the back way, or leaving the house entirely, like I should have, I decide to come back the way I entered.

On the bright side, I didn't trip over anyone this time. However, I did run into Lizzie, who was there waiting for me, hands on her hips. I raised an eyebrow at her, and Lizzie came forward, closer to me, with a very enigmatic look on her face. That was when I started to get a little nervous; the look she was giving me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Edwin..." She said my name slowly, in a low voice, and she moved closer still. It was unnerving how she didn't take her eyes off of me, how our eyes locked. She set my sandwich back in the kitchen on the counter before I could blink and was then back at my side.

I frowned and tried to say something, to ask her what the hell was going on and just where her friends seemed to have gone, but Lizzie shushed me, shaking her head, and putting her finger on my lips. I blinked in surprise, eyes widening further. Then she was so close that her body brushed against mine everywhere, and I could smell her perfume—refreshing, light, and cool with a splash of citrus, a hint of vanilla and, under that, a dash of something wild and unrestrained like a summer day, not flowery but natural (but not so natural you can smell it—not woodsy or hippie-esque).

She wound her arms around my neck, giving me a small, private smile that was secretive, if not a bit coy. Her fingers laced together at the base of my head, playfully toying with my hair. She leaned in further, if that were possible, and she bit her lower lip enticingly and tilted her head forward. I was wary of the whole situation because, well, something about it just felt off (a little too convenient, perhaps), so I didn't dare move. Lizzie did, though, of course, once it became clear that I wasn't going to. She came so close I could feel her breath on my face, see her head looming there, waiting, in the poor lighting of our living room. I tried and failed not to look at her lips.

Then she waited for a minute, pressed her pelvis against mine, knocked our hips together a little. And she kept staring at me with this inscrutable look on her face, as if she was offering me up a challenge. And then she tugged on my hair and pulled my head down, ready lips, half-open mouth, crashing against mine. I was a little surprised, but I should've seen that coming, should've tried to stop it, because I _knew_. But I didn't really want to, didn't care enough about it to stop it. Then my arms were on her shoulders, only I wasn't pushing her away, and we were, I suppose, making out, kind of backing up and heading towards the couch, actually.

I was pretty into it (more so than I would probably like to admit), and from what I could tell, Lizzie sure seemed to be too, but a faint giggle alerted me to the reality of the situation... and the fact that I was probably (not unfortunately, damn it) getting played. So I leaned back, staggering a little so that Lizzie's feet no longer touched the ground. She hoisted her legs up around my waist for stability without me having to do so much as lift a finger. I backed up towards the couch and then, in a single, slightly violent movement, pried her legs away from my waist and threw her down on the couch, ducking out from under her arms. As she landed, I heard a bunch of loud giggle-screams and surmised that, as I intended, she'd managed to squash the annoying friends who had no doubt goaded her into this.

For that, I was pretty pleased with myself... but there was no reason for me to get that... into it. None. After a moment, Lizzie exhaled somewhat raggedly and sat up, shooting me a very peevish look, clearly asking what that was for. "Oh, come on, Lizzie. You can't play me," I retorted, giving her a matching look, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. Lizzie frowned, looking more than a bit put-out, and then her friends scrambled up under her. I stared them down seriously.

"So, which one of you had that bright idea?" I drawled expectantly, crossing my arms over my chest to make up for the fact that I felt uncomfortable and exposed.

Charlotte raised her hand and giggled. "Guilty!" She smiled lopsidedly at me, still laughing. "Sorry, Ed!"

I waved it off, knowing that Charlotte wasn't being entirely truthful. Assuming this was _just _Charlotte's idea, it would seem a whole lot less cruel right now, which made me feel like someone like Rebecca (although not, of course, Rebecca herself, who was repulsed by the idea of me with Lizzie and wore a look on her face that proved it) came up with it. Gabby chose this moment to obnoxiously raise her voice. "So, Lizzie, is he a good kisser?" she demanded. The way she said it, Lizzie and "is he" rhymed.

As if you'll ever get to know, Gabby, is what I thought. Liz just smirked and settled down into the couch a little. "The best," she proclaimed seriously, stifling a giggle. Charlotte nodded in agreement (we kissed a few times during a game of Spin the Bottle) before bursting into laughter yet again. Helen nodded, contemplating it, and I began to feel very uncomfortable, despite the fact that I was smirking, of course. Then again, it could've been worse. They could've said I was a lousy kisser. The unqualified praise coming from Lizzie (and even the nod from Helen) was actually rather flattering, given all the boys she'd dated... assuming, of course, that she was being serious and not merely flattering my vanity.

Then Anya pushed herself up from the floor, a mischievous look on her face. "Oh, yeah," she began loudly. I stared at her for a moment, perplexed, because I've never kissed her. "You should hear all the things Tanya had to say about him! I was really hot and bothered after that conversation," she continued, smirking and fanning herself a little. I winced because she'd mentioned Tanya, albeit without mentioning I'd actually had sex with her, which I expected her to say. Hm, maybe Tanya hadn't told Anya about that? I was too preoccupied by the image of a hot-and-bothered-Anya and Tanya because the image had been presented to me side-by-side, and, well, I am just a man and ooh... sisters, right?

Liz outright scowled, but Anya continued, bemused. "She wouldn't shut up about it, really! The things she said about you, Edwin, I think they've _scandalized_ me for life!" I frowned at that description, getting a little antsy, and Anya threw me a look that said, "you really think I didn't know?" Liz gave me a warning look. The other girls exchanged glances, raising eyebrows.

My sister, on the other hand, just waved it off. "And he doesn't even _like_ her," Liz said pointedly. Anya frowned a little, and I looked away, afraid of the glares I was going to receive. True to form, Rebecca shot me a particularly nasty look.

Rebecca has an oblique way of dealing with these things. She doesn't make comments, and if she does, they'll be pointed enough to wound but just vague enough to mostly escape Lizzie's notice. She's very artful about it, very cool, very subtle except to the party she's insulting. Lizzie is, of course, aware we don't like each other. It would be impossible not to be. However, Rebecca knows that there's a line she can't cross when it comes to me (at least when Lizzie's around to object). Lizzie's made that very clear. Gabby, on the other hand, has no such compunction, or, apparently, manners.

Fortunately, I haven't spent as much time around Gabby to be under her scrutiny (and because she's the freakin' most annoying person on the face of the planet), but I suppose that means that Gabby hasn't voiced these concerns to Lizzie either. Apparently a simple lip curl isn't enough for her. "I can't believe you're so comfortable together... I mean, kissing your brother-" she interjected loudly, wondering at it. I scowled at her immediately, and Liz responded similarly quickly.

She whipped around to find Gabby, who not entirely unbelievably didn't stop talking. However, the look Lizzie was giving her would've shut most anyone up, even the most ignorant and stupid. That particular look had a very limited success rate on me, but that was because I'd become numb to it over the years, and Liz doesn't really aim it in my direction much. Liz started talking before turning around, cutting Gabby off, "And my best friend." The look on her face was plain, expressionless, flat, not open to questions. "So why wouldn't I be comfortable kissing him? It isn't like I haven't done it before. It's totally natural. Like breathing," Lizzie said frankly, nonchalantly. To be fair, Gabby wasn't the only one who was surprised and slightly alarmed by that statement and just how normal Lizzie thought it was to make out with me (I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I was guilty of the same), but she was the only one who was vocal about it. The look in Lizzie's eyes dared Gabby to challenge that statement, but apparently Gabby is too stupid to recognize these obvious signs.

A miffed, somewhat disbelieving look showed up on her face, wide eyes and all. She blinked and then said, rather sedately, really, "Um, _okaaay..." _She paused for a moment, looking, frankly, a bit horrified, before continuing. The sad thing, the thing that Gabby of course didn't understand, is that it's really like that for Lizzie. I don't quite understand—and maybe I never really will—how it's so easy for her to divorce that physical aspect from our normal relationship... or maybe the difference between us is that she differentiates and I don't. I see the one as an integrated whole that the romantic aspect doesn't mesh with, but she sees that as something completely separate... or, perhaps, it could be that Lizzie just sees that as part of the whole. Oy, I'm confusing myself here. "I don't know about you but I don't feel like making out with my brother is completely natural, and frankly, I'm a little alarmed you think that way," Gabby declared, looking a bit squeamish.

Liz rolled her eyes. I noticed then that everyone else was silent, looking on warily. Even Rebecca, who, of course, had a similarly disgusted look on her face, was watching with a faint look of astonishment on her face. Even she knew that Gabby was, more or less, digging herself into a hole here. "Oh, come on... why do you look so squicked out?" Lizzie quipped, making a face at her. "You've seen us kiss before. No big deal. He's a good kisser, end of story," she said coolly, waving it off. Sometimes I wish I could be as utterly sure about things as she is. I envy her ability to broker no mixed feelings.

Gabby still had the same grossed-out look on her face, despite the fact that Lizzie had made herself clear (and was, for that matter, right—Gabby had seen us kiss before several times in Truth or Dare games because plenty of people have thought it was funny to ask stepsiblings to make-out... believe me, it's **not **that funny). Gabby was giving skeptical looks to anyone who would meet her stare. I would have warned her that Lizzie was on the verge of putting the smackdown on her, but, frankly, I would rather have liked to see that. Charlotte exchanged glances with Sylvia, sensing the discomfort in the silence, and began to speak, "You know what annoys me? How stupid boys can be!"

At this, I gave her a quizzical, if not disbelieving look. Of course, I did realize that my opinion was the minority, and that saying the wrong thing in such a situation was a little less than the equivalent of a mishap during a criticality experiment... so I watched my tongue. Sylvia nodded heartily, as did Lizzie, who had been distracted from glowering at Gabby. I knew, judging by the look in her eyes, just where Lizzie's thoughts lay. Or, rather, with whom, which might have contributed to the dark look that was, no doubt, passing over my face. "Tell me about it! And what's worse is that they actually think they understand, too! That they have any idea what you're thinking at all. If you like them, they don't notice... And if you don't like them, they act as if you do!" Sylvia exclaimed rather animatedly.

Lizzie nodded distantly, looking somewhat bored. "True, true. Men just don't understand." While I will acknowledge that is true, to a good extent, it's not always true. Men may be from Mars and women from Venus, or however it goes, but women are just as responsible for the misunderstandings. How often has a women overanalyzed a man's thought processes, misinterpreting one of our actions or reading deeper into it than she should have? Our only fault is that we do not consider theirs and take them at face-value. Women, in my experience, are so very indirect and emotional, subtle and artful. Personally, I think they enjoy being mysterious, misread, and misunderstood, considered some great enigma.

Naturally, I had to speak up by this point, unable to accept the attacks at my gender. Lizzie's comment had given me an opening. "Oh, really? If that's so true, then give me an example," I prompted challengingly. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me, plainly stating in her features that she could give me numerous examples, mostly probably involving my brother, which of course I wouldn't want to hear.

Fortunately for her, Sylvia took up her charge for her, exchanging a brief glance to make sure it was okay. She proceeded to speak when Lizzie waved it off. "Just one?" she asked, dark eyes dancing, sparking with light. Sylvia really does have very beautiful eyes in both color, shape, and expression. I nodded solemnly, and Sylvia smirked at me, sliding forward on the couch. "Well, I'll do better than that. Shall I begin?" she proclaimed, waiting, pausing for the briefest of seconds to secure a nod from me. She crossed one leg primly over the other, putting her hands in her lap, and glanced around at her compatriots. "Sorry if I spill our secrets, girls, but it must be done," she said very gravely, causing Charlotte and some others who knew Sylvia well to break out into hysterical giggles.

"For instance, Edwin, if a girl laughs at your jokes, it's usually not because she thinks you're funny. Unless you're a comedian or get lucky with a punchline," she said rather patronizingly. I found it charming, nonetheless, even though what she told me wasn't really news to me. She paused, smiling secretively. "And, dear Edwin, if a girl touches you on say... the arm or your head or perhaps even your thigh or knee, and if she does so frequently, odds are she's into you. That should be fairly obvious, but you'd be surprised how many guys. Just. _Don't_. Notice," she explained flatly, looking a little less amused. This is a sound point, I should say, but a lot of guys don't realize it because they don't pay attention to how often they're being touched or where... or, I suppose, what it takes for a girl to break that touch barrier. Because, in order to touch, you have to feel pretty comfortable with the person usually, but people are always different...

"If she flips or plays with her hair... if she bites her lip or otherwise draws attention to her mouth by licking her lips or eating something or pouting... if she crosses or uncrosses her legs a lot, much less in your direction... if she adjusts her posture or pushes out her chest... or moves closer... then she considers herself flirting with you, or else she's really nervous," she continued, a self-satisfied smile firmly in place. I like to think I know when a girl likes me, but it's interesting to hear how it is from a girl. It sounds kinda like she's tried this a lot. Her comments were making me think about my relationships and friendships with girls and, well, wonder... a bit more than I would probably like.

Sylvia grinned, probably sensing that her words were starting to have an effect on me. She leaned forward a little. Interestingly, I only equated this with her earlier statement later, as it's only natural to lean towards someone with whom you're having a discussion. She threw me a rather vexed look, leaning back and fixing her hair a little. "And then there's the appearance thing. If we like a guy and want to attract his notice, we dress up nicer when we know we're going to see him, bare a little more skin in his presence, spend extra time on our hair and our clothes, trying to look perfect, find our sexiest perfume, put on a little more make-up... only to have him not notice! You have no idea how frustrating that is, going to all that effort for _nothing_! It's such a waste!" Sylvia interjected, huffing a little in frustration at the end there, tugging on her hair. She spoke very fast and seemed a little agitated.

She's right, too. Guys don't think about that because guys don't know how long it takes or how long girls obsess over seemingly trivial aspects. I have sisters (one of them being the superdramatic Casey), so I understand this better than most. I understand the behavior but not the rationale behind it, and even I don't always notice unless it's Lizzie. We as men don't understand because we don't think about our appearance even half as much, and, realistically, we don't really have a reason to. Society has much lower and more realistic expectations of us than it has of women, after all. And, well, if a guy doesn't see you otherwise, then how is he supposed to notice you've taken particular care when you know you're going to see him? A lot of time women think they're being _really_ obvious when they're not. I mean, sometimes you're just going to have to drop a piano on our heads for us to get the message because we won't get the picture otherwise.

Sylvia raised an eyebrow and asked rather saucily, "Are those enough reasons for you?"

I nodded, somehow sensing the difference in her tone and mood but not quite comprehending it. As, despite what she said, women are still very mysterious creatures, and trying to comprehend them reminds me of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle and how it's impossible to know with any great precision both properties, like the velocity and location of an electron. The more certain you are of the one, the less certain you are of the other. "I guess," I said, making a hand gesture that acknowledged that I conceded to her superior understanding. Sylvia scowled and then stood up very quickly, storming off into the kitchen and almost bowling me over.

There didn't seem to be any particular reason I could pinpoint for such a sudden and unexpected action, at least not any I could think of, so I merely blinked and gave Lizzie a questioning look. She turned away, refusing to acknowledge my question or offer an explanation. I turned elsewhere to voice my concern, frowning. "Hey, does anybody know what just happened?" I asked, glancing around. Some of them looked away, whereas the ones who didn't really know her looked just as confused as I did. "What did I say? I _agreed_ with her!" I muttered disbelievingly, wondering how I could've possibly offended her.

Charlotte frowned and reached out for me, patting my hand. Her eyes were kind, her expression sympathetic. "Oh, poor Edwin, she's just-" Then the most bizarre thing happened. Charlotte looked away from me and caught someone's gaze for a moment, presumably Lizzie, and then her entire countenance changed inexplicably. She dropped my hand and moved backwards, looking down slightly. "Nothing," she told me in a voice I found very hard to believe. I looked at her seriously, none too amused, and Charlotte shrugged, giving me a rather unhappy smile. "I'm afraid it's not my place to say," she admitted reluctantly.

This I took to mean that she knew what was bothering Sylvia but couldn't say out of respect for her friend or some other reason, perhaps. Either way, she didn't feel like it would be okay to tell me. I was pretty disappointed to hear this, and if she were Sylvia, I would've endeavored further to get it out of her, since we all know Sylvia can't keep a secret to save her life.

Anya sighed, looking between all of us, before relenting. "You know, Edwin, if you _really_ want to know why she stormed out, you could just ask her. It's not like Sylvia's going to bite you or anything," she said bluntly. The way she said it and the way she looked at me said, of course, that she saw right through me. I also couldn't help but notice the look Lizzie was giving her, which seemed very peculiar... although Anya was impressive in her ignorance of it. "Now," she said, looking at me directly and pursing her lips, "if you'll excuse me, Patrick and Kat are on a date, and I kinda wanna watch." Then she lightly pushed me to the side and resumed watching.

I paused for a moment until another girl smacked my leg, forcing me to get out of the way, and I ultimately decided to take Anya's device. Next thing I knew, I was walking back into the kitchen. It was actually a good thing I went back because I'd forgotten all about my sandwich. When I stepped foot back in the kitchen, Sylvia was sitting on the counter, eating half of my sandwich. I frowned a little bit and came towards her. She pulled the sandwich away from her mouth and gave me a quizzical, almost guilty look. Swallowing, she muttered, hoisting the sandwich, "You make good sandwich."

I nodded, smiling thinly, leaning against the counter opposite hers. I eyed the other piece of sandwich, debating whether or not to take it, but I came to no decision at that particular point. "Thanks, just one of my many talents..." I quipped, raising my hands and bowing for dramatic flourish. Sylvia snorted. I paused, exhaling before deciding to just rip the bandaid off and get the awkwardness over with. "So, back there, that whole storming out thing... what was that about?" I asked curiously, forcing my voice to be conspicuously casual.

Sylvia stiffened a little but just shrugged it off, even attempting a laugh. Then, as if she sensed I didn't buy into that act, she leaned forward a little bit and looked me dead in the eyes. "A girl's gotta eat, Venturi," she replied diffidently, brandishing the half-eaten sandwich. Then, of course, she resumed eating her sandwich and slightly ignoring me.

I wasn't going to accept that answer, naturally, since it bypassed the question. I pushed myself away from the counter, propelling myself towards her, eyebrow uplifted. "C'mon, Sylvia..." I said, giving her a look.

Sylvia frowned and stuffed the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly as if to prove her point. "What? I was famished!" she exclaimed, voice slightly incredulous as if she couldn't believe I was questioning her. She proceeded to lick her fingers while looking at me, which made my insides twist rather pleasantly. I wondered if that was a deliberate gesture, if she'd known it would distract me. Honestly, and I know that this is a completely horrible thought, and you would think the whole Tanya incident would be proof to the contrary (but I was blitzed out of my mind, so she could've been just about _anyone_!), but I was actually _relieved_ to know that another girl could turn me on. For once, I felt normal and healthy about being aroused, and it's both amazing and terribly sad how much I've missed the simplicity of that feeling, how much I've missed not being ashamed of my arousal.

Point is, it was a good feeling, and a clear indicator that I really have been spending far too much time with Lizzie and alone with her in general. It serves to confirm my theory that I've only been having these feelings because she's the only female my age that I've been close to and had a measure of intimacy with for what, the past year? I mean, aside from brief interludes, this is quite possibly the longest amount of time I've spent alone with a girl other than Lizzie in a year. So if I've been confused, I have the right to be because Lizzie's sort of upset what I thought were the established boundaries for our relationship. Since we're both single, and I find her attractive, and we do have a fairly physical relationship, it's only natural for my mind to play tricks on me and give in to baser instincts. All this pent-up sexual energy of mine needs an outlet, and she's the closest woman at hand, so it only stands to reason that I would attach these sexual feelings to her.

That being confirmed in my mind, I felt very much lighter, like I'd had twelve-thousand tons of lead lifted off my chest, and I was able to smile convincingly at Sylvia. She smirked back, crossing her legs, brushing her hands against her skirt. "So, it seems like I'm missing out?" she teased, batting her eyelashes at me faux-coquettishly. She shifted forward a little, straightening a bit. "You know, you're very lucky you got to hear that. Lizzie never talks about that sort of thing. _Especially_ when it comes to you! So of course none of us had any idea that you're apparently this fantastic kisser except, well, Charlie and Helen, I guess," she confided a bit more seriously.

I was smirking a little, but that made me frown. Lizzie had, after all, told me before that I was a good kisser, but Lizzie and I have no secrets. Her and her friends on the other hand, I imagine, must have quite a lot. I shrugged, pretending not to care. "Hey! It isn't like you didn't have your chance to find out for yourself," I interjected tauntingly, giving her a look.

Sylvia exhaled wearily, leaning back on her hands before rocking forward. She placed her hands on her thighs, and I couldn't help but wish they were my hands instead. She straightened her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles oddly quietly for a comment like that, and then she looked up at me suddenly, squaring her shoulders as if she'd determined she was going to do something risky and possibly grave. "You know, Edwin, you're right," she acknowledged, staring into space a bit dreamily. Her eyes snapped back to mine, and she pushed herself forward just a little bit. "I have to admit I've always been jealous of Lizzie in that one respect," she said quite candidly.

She said it like it was nothing, but I couldn't help but notice that she bit her lip afterward with my eyes on her. I stared at her for a long minute, trying to process what she'd said. For a fleeting moment, the thought occurred to me that maybe she knew Lizzie was my first kiss, but then I realized that wasn't possible at all, as everyone would know that if she did. I licked my lips and moved a little closer myself. "In which one?" I asked in a low voice, a little confused.

Her legs swung back and forth a little, her chin tilted down. Her full bottom lip was still innocently trapped between her teeth, and she looked up ever so slightly at me, an anxious look on her features. "That she gets to kiss you. Whenever she wants. And I can't," she admitted in a soft voice, barely a whisper. I had to lean further forward to hear her properly, and I watched as she backed up pretty quickly, looking even more nervous than before, almost as if she didn't know where she was. Then the reality of what she'd just said seemed to crash over her and she relaxed suddenly, looking a little stunned but otherwise happy. "Wow, I said that, and the world didn't implode. This is kinda anticlimactic then, huh?" she mused incredulously, a little breathless.

Frankly, that was a lot for me to absorb because I'd been told so many things and given so many different signals over the years that I was still processing everything. Lizzie had always said Sylvia wasn't interested, but here was Sylvia saying she was jealous of Lizzie because she got to kiss me, and Sylvia couldn't. It was interesting to me how Sylvia just acknowledged that and accepted it. The way she'd said that made it sound like I was _Lizzie's_, which is utterly ridiculous, as I'm her brother not... not anything _more. _**Never**. And then there was that other question... why? Why can't she kiss me? Then there was that final statement, clearly said in relief, as Sylvia was now laughing a little hysterically. She said it as if she'd been thinking these things for a long time and had kept them bottled up, but that's not Sylvia's style at all, and... how long has she been feeling this way?

Her eyes sparkled with light and mirth, and she made for an enchantingly delightful sight. And, yes, I know me thinking that sounds gay, but I don't care, since I know I'm not gay. I frowned at her. "Who said you can't kiss me? If I recall correctly, I've asked you, and you said no," I said pointedly, leaning a little further just so I could watch her squirm. A shadow passed over Sylvia's face at something I said, but it quickly disappeared. Surprisingly, she reached out, put her hands on my shoulders, and pushed me back half a step.

She crossed her arms over her chest, sighing (bitterly?). "Put yourself in my shoes, Edwin... It's not like I _could_ say yes," she stated bluntly, looking unhappy. For whatever reason, the fire in her eyes dimmed a little, and she refused to look at me. She turned her head to the side. "You're Lizzie's brother, and I'm her friend, and that means you are off-limits," she recited, unable to stop herself from glancing at me once. She said the words crisply, enunciating the syllables, although whether she was doing this for my benefit or her own remained to be seen.

It sounded familiar, that argument. I'd heard it before, and it had sounded just as stupid to me as it did now. I shook my head, pushing back towards her, leaning down so I could look her in the eyes. "I don't buy that, Sylvia. I've dated Helen and Michelle, and Lizzie was dating my _best_ friend for six months!" I managed not quite as coolly as I'd intended. I paused a moment to think this over. Admittedly, I'm being a bit hypocritical here. I don't much like it when she dates my friends either... "Hell, she even went out on a date with Teddy!" I exclaimed, still disgusted at the thought of it. That whole affair still kind of left a bitter taste in my mouth, and not Eleanor's bitter almond midnight blue lipstick.

Sylvia made a similar face. The raised eyebrows, wide eyes, and open mouth indicated that she hadn't known about this particular date. It wasn't exactly a Nobel moment in Lizzie's life, so I couldn't really blame her for not mentioning it to Sylvia. I would say that dating Teddy Jones is pretty shameful. The piquant look returned. "Really? **Ew**. I thought Lizzie had better taste!" she muttered, frowning.

However, I saw her agreement for what it really was, an attempt to distract me. Though I agreed with her about Lizzie having better taste, I wasn't about to change the subject. We were talking about Sylvia and me; the _last _person I wanted to bring into the conversation was my sister. I think of Lizzie more than enough without having her brought up in a conversation with a girl I like. And, yes, I realize I should've considered that when I started liking her best friend, but as they say, the heart wants what it wants. It doesn't allow the mind to consider its choices and rationally dismiss them to choose more suitable targets of desire. My eyes narrowed, and my arms came around to box her in. "Don't try to change the subject, Sylvia. You were saying?" I insisted rather impatiently.

Sylvia pouted, snapping her fingers. "Drat. I was kind of hoping you'd forget." Her cheeks were faintly pink, but she was smiling just a little, awkwardly, of course, but enough. Sylvia was avoiding eye-contact. She was a little jittery and, it seemed, unbelievably, nervous. It had probably sunk in, the reality of what she'd admitted to me. Maybe it was a painful topic for her and she didn't want to bring it up anymore. Anyway, the point is that I should stop speculating because I'm not very good at it, especially when females are involved. I'm an empiricist; I prefer hard facts and hard science to speculative inquiry any day of the week, and guessing at emotions and motivations is sometimes beyond me.

It is, after all, dangerous to make assumptions.

Sylvia sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Look, Lizzie's just kind of made it pretty clear that she wouldn't like it if, um, anything happened with us," she murmured, shooting me furtive looks. She tried to smile and swallowed hard, face turning serious. She was holding her head kind of like she had a headache. "She _really_ doesn't like the idea, and, honestly, I think it kinda freaks her out. And, she gets kinda... weird about you, you know. She has a serious brother complex," Sylvia told me hesitantly.

For all of you who don't know, there are two different meanings for that particular phrase. The first is synonymous with a Cain complex: extreme jealousy of one's brother, leading to hatred and competition. This basically typifies my relationship with Derek, only I would add resentment to the definition, and I prefer envy to jealousy. Casey, wordsmith that she is, could easily explain the difference between envy and jealousy, as I always forget or mix them up. Words aren't my thing, but envy sounds less pathetic than jealousy. I don't want to be jealous of Derek. I don't particularly like being envious of him, but that's the painful truth as I'm forced to acknowledge it.

The second definition, though, is the one that applies in this case: being attracted to men who remind one of one's brother, resulting from a suppressed, subconscious attraction to said brother, as one cannot actually _be_ with one's brother. "You're telling me!" I retorted automatically. Sylvia blinked, surprised at the outburst, and tilted her head, giving me a weird look.

She shook her head and started to speak again. I didn't have to listen to know what she was saying. "Thanks for telling me all the reasons you can't," I told her irritably. I moved like I was going to leave, but really I had no intention of doing so. I realized then what that feeling was that had been settling over me for the duration of the conversation. There it was, the answer to my questions: deja vu, not that I believe in it. In this case, though, it's grounded in fact. Why do I feel like this has been done before? Why do I feel like she's going to mention the Girl Code next and then her and Lizzie are going to start wrestling? Oh, right, because apparently I'm not actually Derek; I'm the _Casey_ in this situation!

Sylvia turned it back around on me, pushing back. She scowled, leaning forward, hands on her hips. "Why are you talking to me like you actually **care**, like you feel the same?" she snapped in a frustrated tone of voice. Maybe because I do, Sylvia. You really shouldn't be so cynical.

I turned around and looked her straight in the eyes unflinchingly. She had said it, more or less, and so could I. Without even flinching, I replied rhetorically, "Maybe because I've had a thing for you since the ninth grade?"

At first she was speechless. She blinked at me, clearly even more surprised than before. I wondered why she was surprised; hadn't she sensed from the things I was saying that I reciprocated some of the sentiments she'd mentioned? She started to recover in bits and pieces. "Y-you have?" she asked disbelievingly, hope edging into her voice. I nodded, thumbs in my belt loops, and took a large step towards her, sure not to take my eyes off of her and obfuscate my point. I watched the joy bloom on her face as a shy smile overtook her features, and she leaned towards me a little bit. "Oh, good. I thought I was the only one," she said finally, sounding relieved, satisfied.

I blinked, backing up a little. This information wasn't wholly unexpected, but it _had _served to surprise me. It was one thing to hear she was attracted to me and wanted to kiss me, but quite another to hear that she reciprocated my feelings. I'd gone from having no hopes to finding out she felt the same in a matter of hours. "Wait, so you've had a crush on me this whole time?" I asked for clarification, scarcely able to believe my luck. And then there was the other feeling, which was me wondering how I, seasoned observer of human behavior, couldn't recognize this.

She nodded brightly. "Yeah, of course." She looked at me coyly, running a hand down her skirt. "I've _always_ had a soft spot for you... I was kinda surprised you didn't know, really. 'Cause I mean, Liz kept telling me to be less obvious about it and I just... I thought you were being polite, sparing my feelings, you know, by not mentioning it. But then I got confused when you started flirting with me..." she confessed, smile widening.

I tried not to frown at her mention of Lizzie because it suggested that Lizzie knew. That didn't jive with what Lizzie had been telling me for years. Now, I know they're friends, and given Sylvia's relatively transparent nature and Lizzie's intuitive understanding of people (which, I realize, has its limitations), it's highly improbable that Lizzie wouldn't know Sylvia had feelings for me. And I know it's illogical, but I don't want to think that... that she knew and didn't tell me, or, worse, that she deliberately misled me. That doesn't fit with the Lizzie I know, but it's a far more likely possibility than I'd like to imagine. "I honestly had no idea," I said, probably gaping a little. "I mean, if I knew, I would've said _something_. Or done something. But she, uh, Liz always said you didn't like me," I told her earnestly if not a bit apologetically, wondering a little.

She frowned a little, probably because she just realized that Liz knew how I felt too, and that Liz had... I don't want to say lied... I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, but... that's what it looks like. I shook these thoughts away, affecting a brief laugh. "I mean, you really couldn't tell? You don't honestly think I normally walk around shirtless that much, do you?" I asked incredulously, half-snickering as I said it, trying to prevent myself from laughing louder.

Sylvia's face broke out into a wide smile, and she started laughing loudly. She covered her mouth, embarrassed, but couldn't stop laughing. I waited impatiently for a few moments. "Wait... You did that on purpose?" she gasped, staring at me. There was a time that, whenever Sylvia came over, I made a point to walk around the house shirtless... when I was younger. I still sometimes made a point of finding flimsy excuses to take my shirt off in her presence, or, you know, just deliberately forget to put one on when I knew she'd be coming by. And, of course, if she was sleeping over, there's no way I'd wear a shirt at night.

I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. Did it work?" I drawled, affecting a smirk.

A peal of laughter slipped past her lips, and she tossed her hair. "I dunno. You really think your abs are that great?" she joked, poking my stomach. I scowled at her, but Sylvia just kept grinning. She put her hands on my shoulders, smoothing them. "Well, you know, that explains a _lot_ now. I was wondering why you were always saying it was hot when it was like, not even twenty degrees out. I told Liz about it, and she said you had some sort of sensory disorder," she continued cheerily, very amused by that statement. I couldn't believe Lizzie had told her that. It was the exact sort of sabotage I'd come to expect from Derek (in terms of Casey's lovelife).

Sylvia giggled enchantingly, fingers light, still on my shoulders. I leaned forward heavily, hands swinging and landing on the counter by her legs, but she was still laughing and didn't notice. "Hey, Sylvie..." I said in a low, measured voice. She looked up at me, and her entire expression turned serious. She glanced at me, suddenly realizing how close we were and looking a little alarmed at our proximity. "I like you, and you like me, so why aren't we dating already?" I wondered aloud. She stared at me with wide eyes, utterly silent. She shrugged shyly, hunching forward a little.

I leaned forward more heavily and then, without really thinking of what I was doing, I was kissing her. In a flash, my lips were suddenly on hers. In that brief moment, neither of us did anything but stand there. And then Sylvia tilted her head to the side, and her lips moved against mine, and her arms gripped my neck and pulled me closer. One of my hands made its way to her lower back. She arched towards me. My legs wound up between her legs, and we were close there, not quite brushing against each other. Then my tongue was tracing her lips, and she opened her mouth to me. Her legs tightened around my hips, pulling me closer.

Kissing Sylvia was better, truly, than I'd ever imagined. I'd never thought we would be all over each other, though, like we were then. I'd shut my eyes out to the rest of the world, and there was only her and me and the sound of our breathing. Her hands tangled in my hair while my hand slid up her back. We finally pulled away when our lungs burned with the need for oxygen. I leaned my forehead against hers, looking down at her, my nose just brushing hers. My arms were low around her back and waist. I watched as she opened her eyes and smiled at me. I didn't take my eyes off of hers. "You want to go out with me sometime, like, maybe in a couple days after all this finals stuff blows over?" I murmured huskily.

Her grin widened, and she nodded slowly, shyly. I beamed back at her. One of her hands caressed my cheek affectionately, and then she pulled back a little, frowning faintly, and sighed. Her forehead still rested against mine, but just barely. She let out a whoosh of breath. The second thoughts were in her eyes. "You know, Ed, we could be making a huge mistake here," she mumbled warily, looking down, suddenly sober. She looked back up at me briefly. "And Lizzie isn't exactly gonna throw us a parade, if you know what I mean," she added a moment later, kind of unhappily.

Our heads were no longer touching, but I tilted her chin up with my thumb, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Forget Lizzie, okay? If she has a problem with it, I'll talk to her," I told her determinedly, intently. I meant it too, because Liz had most certainly ruined my lovelife more than enough. I wasn't about to let her sabotage a potential relationship with a girl I've been interested in for four years... at least, not any more than she already had. I didn't intend or expect Lizzie to have a problem with it, at least none that she'd say to my face. I didn't feel obligated to talk to her about it, as I don't need her permission or her blessing, but, given Sylvia's inability to keep anything to herself, it was likely that I'd have to be prepared for such a conversation. Still holding her chin, I bent down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. "Give me a shot here, Sylvia," I pleaded.

She smiled faintly and pulled me back towards her, kissing me briefly without much ceremony. I wasn't expecting it, and she pulled back before I could deepen the kiss or respond properly. "Okay," she whispered, nodding, "okay... Wednesday night, then?" I nodded in response, already looking forward to the date, and kissed her again. Then I pulled away from her, lips separating with a faint smacking sound. Sylvia smirked, pushing me away and slipping down off the counter. She fondly placed a finger on my lips. "You know," she replied impishly, grinning at me brightly, "Lizzie was right about you. You are one hell of a kisser. Must be why she keeps you around." I made a face at her but grinned back goodnaturedly in spite of myself, just barely managing to restrain myself from telling her I was apparently a better kisser than Teddy.

Sylvia giggled then, leaning her forehead against mine. "Now, I've spent _far_ too much time in here to be eating a sandwich, so I'm gonna go back to the girls. I recommend taking the back stairs," she told me playfully, bringing her finger up to bop my nose before whirling around and strutting out the door. "See ya." She turned at the last second to flash me a wink that left me chuckling.

I leaned against the counter and watched her go before snatching up the other half of the sandwich, slipping out the back way, and heading up the stairs stealthily. In a house like this, you learn how to be invisible pretty quickly. I went upstairs and, instead of doing homework, picked up one of my books, flopped down on my bed, and started reading. The book I was reading happened to be one of L. Ron Hubbard's books—ironically not his science fiction but, rather, his books on Scientology. Though they present themselves as representing absolute truth and being based solely on facts, they're so scientifically inaccurate and implausible that it's truly laughable. The want of precision and, well, common sense, and stubborn ignorance of scientific fact (the universe simply is nowhere close to a quadrillion years old, and there has been no evidence of extraterrestrial lifeforms, to name a few) frustrate me, for sure, but they're some of the cheesiest, funniest science-fiction I've ever read.

So, I was having a mildly good time reading about Xenu and all that space opera stuff when all of a sudden my door creaks open. I glanced up nonchalantly to see who it was and what he or she wanted, figuring it was probably Lizzie or possibly Derek here to pick up something that C or Marti just had to have... or, if I was really lucky, Sylvia. Unfortunately, when I looked up, the slim figure of Rebecca stood in my doorway, cool as ice water, proud and aloof. I cocked an brow at her but made sure to barely look at her, since there's nothing she hates more than not having your undivided attention. "What do you want, Rebecca?" I muttered, generally uninterested.

When I looked up again, she'd waltzed into my room like she owned the place and was standing uncomfortably close to me. I was surprised, but I knew better than to show that I was slightly alarmed. Growing up with Derek taught me to never show your fear, because some animals can just smell it, and suddenly they get the upper-hand. Rebecca is one of those animals. She had her arms planted firmly on her hips, and she was giving off her best intimidating stare, like she was above having a conversation. I don't pretend to understand women, much less Rebecca, but I momentarily wished Lizzie was there to give me some insight into a woman's mind. "It looked like _someone_ was a little too into that make-out session," she remarked pointedly.

Somehow, I sensed that she hadn't really come in here to talk to me about my relationship with Lizzie, but I knew that, whatever it was, I wasn't really going to want to hear it. So I made sure that I was wearing my most indifferent, unoffended expression. It burned at me a little because I'd thought something similar, and I was tired of having the same issue brought up to needle me time and time again. I nodded seriously and said, quite soberly, "You know, Rebecca, you're right." The stunned look on her face was priceless; she'd turned absolutely white (with horror, disgust, or surprise?). Then I smirked and added brightly, "I mean, wrapping her legs around my waist? Lizzie was _way_ too into it. I think that's the most action she's gotten in months."

The sad truth of it was that it had no doubt been the most action Lizzie had gotten in months, since the unwanted grope session that was that date with Teddy. Or, more accurately, I personally knew the last time Lizzie had gotten that much action because I'd also been involved... most likely that night she'd gotten wasted and came into my room. Rebecca closed her mouth, but I could tell I'd rattled her a little. "I wasn't the one who asked her to kiss me, Rebecca, and you know it," I replied coolly.

Rebecca had regained a healthy coloring, but the disgusted look was still etched into her features. "True," she conceded, lowering her eyes before raising them as she struck, "but most brothers would've pushed her off and wouldn't have kissed back. So, apparently, you're a special _breed_ of pervert, so desperate you'll take action from your stepsister to get off." The malice in her eyes glittered dementedly. It shouldn't have been so hard to take because others had said the exact same thing before, even... even Lizzie herself on that moment on Dan's porch I wish I was too drunk to remember. I hadn't been expecting that degree of hostility, which cut me to the quick, but I tightened my jaw and refused to otherwise demonstrate my anger.

I forced myself to play it light, to smile and use a joking tone, like Derek would, to misdirect the tension and avoid the subject. I waggled my eyebrows, more bravado than actual proposition, and said, "Well, maybe I wanted to give the audience a real show." I shrugged. "After all, it's no fun if the target doesn't play along, now is it?" I drawled knowingly. All those years of watching Derek and Casey play their sick, twisted little game under the pretenses of family and brotherhood had taught me that, because Casey, as much as she tried to avoid it, always seemed to play right into Derek's hand.

And yes, I realize that for a guy who has as complicated and mixed-up a relationship with his brother as I do, I act like him and turn to his guidance quite a lot, especially when I'm always saying I don't want to be like him. I acknowledge that seeming contradiction in my own character because it's my means of coping. My whole life, up until really recently, I've seen my brother as this kind of godlike figure to be admired and feared from afar, because Derek is someone you can't really get close to, and I put him up on this pedestal. Only recently I realized the truth of him, and I saw past the facade of Being Derek Venturi to what he is inside... and what he really is is, well, kind of sad. Not quite so happy, not quite so effortless, not quite so nonchalant. So, ever since I was a little boy, I learned to act like my big brother in certain situations where I otherwise felt like a fish of water because sometimes it helped to have this protective aura of false confidence wrapped around me. Derek was always so certain, so self-assured, so self-satisfied, so in control, and why _wouldn't_ I want to be like that?

Until you realize that a lot of his persona, his bravura and braggadocio, a lot of it's just a mask, a facade he wears to protect himself, and that it surrounds him, cushions him like a protective cocoon.

Rebecca, however, was unamused and glaring at me, as per usual. I sighed, irritated. Really, all I wanted was for her to go away, rather than engage in this awkward stand-off. "Look, Rebecca, just cut to the chase. I know you didn't come here just to comment on my relationship with Lizzie... What is it you really want from me?" I interjected bluntly, closing my book and staring at her expectantly.

A brief look flitted across her face that resembled uncertainty, and the unexpected display of emotion on her part made my hackles rise. This was for two main reasons, the first of which being that she was an actress and was accordingly probably using it to manipulate me, and the second being that such a display was very out of character and meant there was something very wrong afoot here. She stared at me blankly. "You really don't remember, do you?" she asked in a tone that was sort of disbelieving.

I'll admit it; I was confused. I had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded a lot like that bizarre conversation we'd been forced to have in Drama. At the time, I had sensed that the conversation was more than a script, that it meant bad things for me, but in reality, I had no idea. "Don't remember what?"

Rebecca sighed and came towards me, looking me straight in the eyes. There was something very intimidating about her stare all of a sudden. She gave me a look that was almost pitying but not quite. It was different than the expression of faux sincerity she often wore. There was a bitterness, a snappishness to the edges of it. Her eyes were hard, her lips a thin line. She clamped her hand down on my shoulder, startling me a little, and then leaned in towards my face and stated, "We had _sex_, Edwin." Then she pulled back just as suddenly, throwing me the repulsed viper look with which I was familiar.

I blinked, taking time to absorb the statement. It was considered briefly and quickly dismissed. I would _never_ do something like that, and it was truly coming out of nowhere. I don't remember anything even remotely like that, and the closest I've ever been to her was either in Drama or in the course of this increasingly bizarre conversation. But, then again, why would Rebecca lie about having sex with me? It isn't as if she's attracted to me, right? That would be far too weird... and too improbable, right? It could explain her feelings about my relationship with Lizzie, though... But, I mean, just because some relationships that I've witnessed are like this, that doesn't mean that everyone who acts like they hate me actually like me. We're not in first grade, pulling pigtails, and girls don't do this. They don't usually employ reaction formation to pretend like they don't-

On second thought, hm... The look on her face was a cipher, a challenge. I shook my head, as even the thought of it was unpleasant and revolting. "What? Of _course_ I don't remember that..." Rebecca's face tightened meanly, and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking vindicated but still irate. I might've gotten up in her face, shouting. "'CAUSE IT **NEVER** HAPPENED!" I roared, throwing my hands in the air. She had to be mistaken, to have the wrong guy. And, if I supposedly did have sex with her, why wouldn't it have come up before now unless... unless it was at my birthday party, but she hated me before that... and while I don't remember much, if anything, after I met that girl, presumably Tanya, at the bar... I do remember that she was most definitely a blonde. I would remember having sex with Rebecca St. Clair.

Rebecca's eyes widened in genuine astonishment for a moment before transforming back to icy, narrow slits. Carefully constrained fury flickered in her eyes. Her posture, body, shoulders and all, was tight and stiff. She walked right up to me, jabbing me in the chest. "_Yes_, it did," she enunciated defiantly. She didn't move back but stayed there, glowering at me, waiting for me to say something.

I rolled my eyes at her. I don't know why she persists in believing this delusion, but I've never completely understood psychology. People have such stupid and variable motives most of the time, and they're so subjective and open to misinterpretation that it's hardly worth analyzing. I cannot possibly uncover all of Rebecca St. Clair's neuroses in one day. She must have me mistaken for someone else who resembles me. That's the only logical explanation for such a claim. "I think I'd remember something like that," I rejoined swiftly. I didn't cross my arms over my chest because I didn't need to be defensive, but I did move to get a bit of distance from her.

Rebecca threw me a downright frosty look. "Well, clearly you don't," she proclaimed instantaneously, placing a slim hand on her hip. Her voice was colder than I ever remembered hearing, sub-zero and eerily calm (though fitting, I suppose, as molecules at colder temperatures move more slowly and approach stillness). She cut in before I could respond, "But you've always wondered why I hate you, haven't you? And now you know." She said it with a stunning and impressive finality, as if that was that and that was gospel, whereas I was still trying to wrap my mind around everything.

I shook my head helplessly, still horribly bewildered at this sudden turn of events. It could not possibly be true. I-I never even liked Rebecca, not since I met her. I thought she was attractive for approximately one nanosecond before she opened her mouth, and it was apparent that she was a shallow, manipulative megabitch. "No, I don-" I tried to argue, trying not to get angry. It wouldn't do to get so blatantly irritated so early on in the conversation, because my rage would give her unbearable leeway to try and hold things over me. She exploits weaknesses like emotions and twists them around to use them against you.

She took a step forward, throwing her weight around. "Let me just paint a picture for you, Edwin," she sneered, seriously invading my personal space. Her eyes glinted maliciously. "Your friend Zach threw that big party back in sophomore year, when you were still moping over Michelle? You remember that, don't you? _Don't_ you?" she drawled, watching me with beady eyes. Truthfully, I didn't remember much of that party, and that was the problem. It had been Zach Burton's first big party, trying to live up to his big brother's example. That was actually the night we became friends. Because back then Zach was cool, and I was still this gawky kid trying to find his place in the world, trying to figure out who I was apart from my brother's shadow. I wrote the book on big brother issues, so we had things in common. Anyway, I found him outside, not enjoying it one bit, back when I was sober, and we had a talk, and just like that, we were friends from that point forward.

Rebecca made a face, tossing a hand in the air casually. "And all the drinks were spiked, and you were throwing them back like you thought you were... your _brother._.. or something." She tossed that word out casually, with a look at me, knowing how it would affect me. I tried not to stiffen just because I knew she was watching. How I feel about my brother isn't exactly a secret. It wasn't my first party, but, like she said, I was a little upset about Michelle still, and bored. That's why I started drinking. She batted her eyelashes mockingly, tossing her hair. "And you met a girl and flirted with her, and the two of you wound up getting locked in the bathroom together..." she continued knowingly.

I didn't intend to show any kind of reaction, because, whatever, I thought she was talking out of her ass here. But the minute she said locked in the bathroom together, I froze completely. I didn't entirely remember it, but I knew it had happened because we (the girl and I, not necessarily Rebecca and myself) were locked in the bathroom together. It's kind of a family M.O. for parties. Go figure. Rebecca raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Am I getting warm here, or would you prefer me to go on and highlight the even _more_ embarrassing details?" she continued a bit smugly, knowing she had me. I was still trying to wrap my mind around everything, so I was speechless. Rebecca grinned meanly and elaborated, "Like, oh, say, that it was in the bathtub? And you lasted less than five minutes?"

Contrary to what she thought, I wasn't injured by the sting, since I'm sure Tanya could vouch for the opposite, and it was my first time. I was fifteen. The bathtub thing was interesting, though, because I didn't remember that. I only remembered that it was in the bathroom, white tiles and walls. Rebecca smirked, sensing my vulnerable state of mind. "And," she added a bit fondly, "just in case you still don't believe me, you have the _cutest_ little birthmark on your left upper thigh, kind of on the side, a little below your hip. It sort of looks like Baffin Island."

The aforementioned birthmark burned on my hip, and I just about fainted with shock. Nonetheless, I rallied a little, frantically trying to remember whether or not there was any other possible occasion or explanation for her seeing that birthmark. Did Lizzie even know about it? Rebecca's evil grin widened in victory. I was still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that she'd just given me virtually incontrovertible evidence that we'd had sex, but I wondered what exactly she was accomplishing in telling me this, other than screwing with me. I wasn't about to give Rebecca the satisfaction of seeing how much her news had affected me. "Yeah, yeah, and you gave me so many hickeys it looked like an octopus attacked me... why are you telling me this _now_?" I interjected somewhat irritably.

She shrugged diffidently, a bit too defensively. Rebecca was good at covering that sort of thing, though, so the cold, expressionless facade was firmly back in place mere moments later. "Just thought you ought to know. To understand a few things," she quipped mysteriously, expression enigmatic like a damn sphinx. She looked at me levelly. "I was _sick_ of you acting like nothing happened. I wanted you to remember. Because I've been living with this for years, and I didn't have the good fortune of forgetting," she added a moment later, a bit more biting and a bit more honest. She shrugged again, the faintest hints of a smile on her lips. "Feels damn good to finally get it off my chest," she replied satisfactorily, turning around and leaving, denying me the opportunity of saying anything more on the subject, which, ultimately, she knew would annoy and unnerve me even more than her little declaration, since she'd given me both time and material to stew in my own misdeeds. Clearly this woman is an evil genius, the likes of which would make the dictators and mad scientists of spy film lore weep, a talent which is only slightly wasted in acting.

After staring into space and hating myself for several hours, I came to and forced myself to stand up. I'd been ruminating on mistakes so far back in my past that I don't remember them for far too long, and there was, simply put, nothing I could do about it now. It is illogical to feel bad about something I can't change unless I somehow discover time travel, which is thusfar theoretically impossible. I... I need to get a grip. So I padded down to the bathroom, deciding that a shower would be best. Maybe a shower would make me feel less... dirty, less unclean.

I started peeling off my clothes as soon as I stepped into the bathroom, and I walked over to turn the water on extra hot as some kind of penance, or, more likely, disinfectant. Heat kills most bacteria. On a second thought, though, not wanting any more unexpected interruptions, I turned around and shut and locked the door. No one should be interrupting me up here, but I'd learned so many unexpected things tonight that I couldn't be certain enough unless I locked it. My clothes lay haphazardly on the floor, but I'd pick them up later. My only thoughts, or, rather, the only ones I allowed myself, were of finding a towel, getting clean, and getting some well-needed and deserved sleep.

I stuck my hand in the stream of water and found it to be acceptable, so I stepped in. The moment my feet touched the smooth tile of the shower, and I felt the hot water on my back, I knew it was going to be a long shower. I leaned back into the water, which was both comforting and boiling. My body wanted to jump out from the water, but I just twisted to the side a little and took it. Then I found the soap and I ran it over every expanse of skin I could reach, scrubbing and swiping and lathering. I watched the bubbles slide down and over my skin in silent fascination.

And then it was all a little too much... the heat of the water, the steam in the air, the soap sliding down my skin, the girls who'd taken over my house... Lizzie, Sylvia, Rebecca, they all blurred together and I was... a little frustrated and confused, and, no matter what I tried, I couldn't just erase that part of me that had slept with Rebecca. I didn't remember it, but I knew it was in me still, like a virus, encoded deep in my DNA so I couldn't remove it or fight it... It was just something I had to live with. And my hands followed the soap's path down my body, and without even intending to, I'd wrapped a hand around myself loosely.

When I looked down and saw this a moment later, my grip tightened reflexively. I couldn't help but to start to move my hand up and down, pulling and rubbing and stroking, soft and then harder. The need was becoming too pressing to ignore. And then I heard a twisting sound, then a faint click and creaking sound. The door opened, and I froze. My heart just about stopped, and my hand had stilled but I didn't dare remove it. I heard footsteps on the floor, walking into the bathroom. "Edwin? We need to talk," came Lizzie's hesitant, disembodied voice.

I swallowed so fast I could feel my Adam's apple bob. I didn't need to look down to know I was harder; I felt the change in my hand. It came over me in a sort of shudder. I licked my lips, which were suddenly dry, and I found my strangled voice. "I'm kind of busy here, Lizzie. Can't you at least wait until I'm out?" I muttered anxiously, trying but not entirely succeeding at keeping the pleading note out of my voice. My hand tightened again, this time against my will.

Liz huffed out a breath, and I could practically feel here there, plainly too close. I didn't want her to get that close to me. "You know I'm not a really patient person here, Ed," she muttered vaguely irritably. A wisp of a wondering came to me as I debated whether or not she was, for some reason, annoyed with me. "Besides," she whined, drawing the word out nasally, "I have to use the bathroom anyway."

I shut my eyes and grit my teeth, trying to keep my hand from moving. The pressure was becoming more and more unbearable by the minute. I didn't want to touch myself with her in the room, but the mere thought sent a hot, shameful frisson of pleasure through me. "I don't really wanna talk," I managed to grunt out, barely able to hold myself back. My body agreed with my voice. I tried to tell myself I had more respect for the both of us than that, but my body begged with me, demeaning myself further.

Her exhale of breath was sharp and hard. It prompted a similar, shakier response from myself. "Well, too damn bad. If you don't, I'm just gonna come in there and _make_ you," Lizzie declared equally sharply, suddenly right next to my haven of the moment. An uncomfortable, squirmy feeling bubbled up inside. It was a crippling, snakish sort of feeling, like a current. I could almost make out her outline through the curtain that was _just_ thick enough. The minute she said "come", I almost did. And that would've been **hot**, but the sheer mortification of it and likelihood that she would have noticed were enough to pull me back. I was so intent on trying to keep it together that I actually kind of missed what she said.

"Make me... what?" I asked dazedly, idly trailing a single finger down the soft, hot, and wet underside. I stopped, realizing what I was doing, but all that did was stop the motion, not the... feelings.

"Talk. About a girl," Lizzie continued bluntly, sounding rather irritated with me. I could sense her rolling her eyes, muttering about how stupid I was under her breath.

With all that had happened that night, I was understandably a little confused at her vague response. I wasn't thinking clearly to begin with; it was understandably... hard to do so. Which girl did she mean? We had a whole house full of them, for starters, and any one of them could easily have some kind of problem with me. I knew she was still mad about Tanya, so it could easily be about her... And maybe she found out about Sylvia, too, or, well... there was what I'd just found out about Rebecca, who could've easily told her... and, of course, not to mention Lizzie herself or any one of our family members. "Which one?"

I heard some kind of whooshing sound and figured it was Lizzie throwing something or flinging her hands in the air. She sounded a little more annoyed and fairly exasperated. "Which _one_? What, do you have more than one going on the side? **Sylvia**, you moron! You know she can't keep a secret!" Lizzie exclaimed, sparks of genuine anger creeping into her tone. If I had been out there, she probably would've smacked me for saying that, but fortunately I was... relatively safe behind my curtain. I was relieved, actually, when she said she was here to talk about Sylvia. That was something I'd prepared for, a conversation I'd anticipated.

"Can we talk about this later?" I asked quietly, letting out a breath. "I really just want to finish showering. Then we can do all the talking you want," I muttered miserably. _Nothing_ that she'd said had made me any less desperate for relief, no matter how hard I tried to think of nonerotic things like grandmothers and (not sisters, _not-_sisters) physics and anything repulsive my mind could conjure up.

Lizzie sighed edgily. "Fine," she grunted out. I heard her padding towards the door, but she stopped just short of opening it. "Jeez, when did you start caring about privacy?" she muttered somewhat petulantly, opening the door and closing it behind her. "I hope you know I'm gonna keep talking to you through the door. If you think you're getting rid of me here, you've got another thing coming," she continued airily, voice somewhat muffled.

I let out a low groan. Because, of course, why would I get off easy? There is no such thing when Lizzie is even remotely involved. I let out a shaky breath and started to move my hand. The quicker this was over with, the sooner I'd feel like a normal human being, and the sooner I'd be able to have a normal, serious conversation with Lizzie. Still, knowing she was on the other side of that door was an incredible aphrodisiac. I could practically hear her breathing. "Also, since when have you locked the door?" Lizzie demanded loudly.

This is kind of the whole reason I locked the door. Privacy. Still, I knew a response was expected, especially since I'd asked her to leave, which I hadn't done in years. "Since Derek came in and took naked pictures of me when I was fourteen?" I rejoined, raising my strained voice a little. This time even the unpleasant memories and saying Derek's name didn't diminish the desire I felt. I felt out-of-control, like I couldn't stop, so I picked up the pace, closing my eyes and focusing on the rough friction. No gentle, girlish touches now. I was too focused on achieving the task at hand for that.

I heard a faint gasp through the door, and my discomfort increased. Every time I thought it was getting better, every time I thought I was getting closer to that point, she made some sound that just made me even more turned on. "What? I never saw any naked shower pictures of you! I feel cheated now," she interjected, sounding surprised, perhaps pouting a little. Her voice was a little breathier than it should've been, a touch outraged and strangely playful, and it twisted me up inside. My intestines were knots, and I was so painfully horny I was nauseous, especially since I was thinking about how _easy_ it would be for her to see me naked in the shower. All she would have to do is come in and open the-

"I burned all the negatives," I muttered after a long pause, gritting my teeth, when I felt stable enough to stay that. But even then, I still felt like plutonium-239, liable to go off at any time (but, unfortunately, not quite so lucky). I increased the speed further, working feverishly, hands rougher and faster, just trying to get to that point. I felt the need to punish myself a little. My mind was torn between recalling that incident and thinking about how hot it was that she was on the other side of that door, so close but so far away.

Liz snorted, vaguely amused, and I heard her lean against the door a little. The scraping, the knowing that it was her skin, was practically unbearable because bits of bare flesh danced through my head. My mind acted like a camcorder and played back every dim black-and-white memory I had of naked girl flesh, zeroing in on and prolonging those moments where I'd seen Lizzie naked. I swallowed hard. "And why would Derek give up a choice piece of film like that?" she teased. I hoped I was hallucinating that flirtatious undertone, but I tried to block it out and focus on remembering the details of that event.

It only half worked. Derek had sneaked in on me in the shower and filmed a little of it, intending to show it to other people for purposes of embarrassment. I'd seen him, pulled on the first clothes I could find, and ran after him, furious. Derek taunted me, holding the tape over my head and saying he'd show it to Lizzie. That was before... everything had happened with us, back when I thought I didn't have a chance, but Derek had known I'd had a crush on her. I was... pretty obvious about it, with all the staring and everything. It was best not to think about that tense period of time, because memories of Lizzie and me started filtering back, of those first erotic moments that I could never fully dissociate from her, no matter how hard I tried.

I kept pumping, even though I was getting a cramp in my hand. "Because I told him it'd be kiddie porn if he released it, and if he showed it to anyone else, like you, he'd be corrupting a minor. And going to court and being prosecuted as a sexual predator would ruin that whole reputation he's got going," I managed to choke out, albeit somewhat awkwardly with more pauses. It was easier to talk than I thought it would be, given the subject matter, but it came out tired and breathless-sounding, not playful or sarcastic like I wanted it to be, not even blunt... just weak, weak like me.

Apparently this wasn't what Lizzie had expected, because she was blissfully silent. I sighed quietly and stepped it up a notch, using both hands, alternating strokes, soft and rough, this way, that way. I was getting closer. I could feel it building, tensing, and I was comfortable with that, accepting of the involuntary spasms of my body. Then, just as I thought I was home-free, she spoke quietly, impressed. "_Damn_. You were serious?" she asked disbelievingly in that low voice that made it just a bit harder for me.

I nodded urgently before realizing, gratefully, that she couldn't see. "Of course. Derek would've done the same thing unless he wanted the exposure," I told her quickly, more than a little breathlessly. I hoped it wasn't obvious what I was doing, that she didn't know. I hated feeling like this, feeling like I was getting off to the sound of her voice, but I knew I kinda was, intentionally or not. Derek's name this time dulled the urge a little, but not enough either way, just enough to frustrate me.

There was blissful, sweet silence for a minute, and I was almost there. Her voice jarred me out of my trance. "Edwin, I love you and all, but you're taking forever in there. Can you hurry it up a little?" she interjected impatiently. I choked a little bit, torn, because part of me was on high-alert, freaking out like you wouldn't believe, every cell in my body painfully alive. The rest of me was in pain too, and trying so hard to keep my mind in the proper little box, but when you're there, touching yourself, it's hard to keep everything in that little box. Everything she seemed to say just made it harder for me.

Then I did something very stupid. I wanted her to keep talking, wanted to drown out all the silence. I don't know why. I hated myself for wanting that. "Lizzie," I murmured slowly, "Why are you in love with Derek?" Honestly, I half-expected silence because I didn't think she would answer. "Tell me," I implored a moment later, a little too invested in knowing this for both of our good.

Liz froze outside the door, and I heard her sharp inhale. I could tell the question had startled her and wondered if she'd ever thought about it before. There was silence for a minute or two, and then she took another breath and started to speak. "Why?" she asked slowly, in a measured voice, pausing briefly. I heard her lean a little more of her weight against the door. "I don't know. I don't remember when it started, really. I just remember looking up one day and suddenly he was more than a brother to me," she said vaguely, obviously deep in thought. I felt like there was something she was holding back from me, something she couldn't explain.

I jerked a little at the word "brother." I couldn't help it. I heard a faint sound that sounded kind of like lips smacking. "I guess one day I kind of admitted to myself that he was hot, and after that, I just started getting more and more attracted to him," she professed somewhat raspily. It was too easy to pretend she wasn't talking about my brother. "He was around the house all the time, you know, so I saw him every day... and I came to appreciate all those qualities of his I used to think were annoying. Like, I just woke up and realized that I liked being around him because he was charming and funny and confident and, you know, really knew how to flatter a girl. I like the way he makes me feel because I feel like a different person," Lizzie elaborated. The longing in her voice just about killed me, I think, but it did convince me a little bit more. It made me wonder why she'd want to feel like a different person.

She sighed heavily, banging her head against the door before I could say anything. "And I _know_ he's all kinds of screwed up. I _know_ he thinks of me as a sister. But I can't help it," she lamented. The helplessness in her voice, I knew that. I understood that. I felt that. "Sometimes you just want more," she murmured a second later. I could only grunt my agreement, knowing the feeling all too well. She said some more things, but I'd stopped listening.

A guy can only take so much. She sighed, irritated, probably upon realizing that I hadn't been paying attention to her, and I heard her body lift off the door. "Look, Ed, I want you-" she began, raising her voice in an attempt to regain some of her soberness. My throat was dry. Apparently I'd hallucinated there being a pause in her sentence because her words continued a beat later. "-out of there." She banged on the door a little, antsy and edgy as ever. I could feel my pulse, fast and throbbing, unsteady. "Can I just come in already, Ed?" she barked, voice a little softer than that. _That_ was what did me in. I came unexpectedly to the sound of her voice and the door creaking, and I felt like some kind of fungus.

I let the waves of it wash over me and waited until I felt a little less weak to talk. I felt sick and relieved and guilty all at the same time. I hardly trusted my voice, not when I barely felt able to stand on my own feet, let alone keep myself from vomiting. I'd had to swallow back the bitter, acrid taste of bile. It was the first time (but not the last) I'd ever felt nauseous when I came, and it was hard to fight my gag reflex. I pulled my hand away, wiping it on my side, but my penis still tingled. I tried to catch my breath a little, waited for my pounding heartbeat to slow down, so that it wasn't too obvious. "Give me a sec here," I called breathlessly, hoping she didn't hear the strain in my voice, the echoes of guilt. I closed my eyes, swallowing hard, and leaned back into the water and took a deep, sustaining breath. My stomach hadn't stopped churning ominously.

And then, I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing in earnest, cleaning myself up. That, unfortunately, didn't make me feel any less dirty or sick, but I was too focused on the moment and getting through it, managing it, to think of the horrible thing I'd just done to achieve a little peace of mind. But it was still there, in the back of my mind, like that fluttery-you're-going-to-vomit-right-now feeling in my stomach and the saliva thick in my mouth.

I squeezed some shampoo into my hair, lathered it up, and then rinsed it out as fast as possible. Then I stuck my head out of the shower curtain just in time to watch Lizzie open the door. She cocked an eyebrow at me, nonplussed? "You done?" I nodded vaguely and reached back in to turn off the water, but Lizzie had already crossed the room, going for the toilet. I ducked back into the shower just in time to get a boiling blast of water in the face as she flushed the toilet. Lovely, I thought. Not only am I sick and hot and still feeling dirty, but I just got a spurt of hot water in the eye. Somebody up there loves me.

I sighed, grumbling at her mumbled apology, and turned the water off, reaching out for the towel to dry myself off. It wasn't where I'd left it hanging, and I almost jumped when Lizzie handed it to me, fingers brushing mine. I dried off speedily before wrapping the towel around my waist and stepping out of the shower. I almost ran right into Lizzie, who was standing just outside of the shower, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes dropped to my chest and ran over my body, making me feel uncomfortable. Goosebumps rose on my skin, but I mirrored her posture and tried not to show my discomfort. "So?" she interjected, "Explain yourself."

She gave me an expectant look that could've stripped paint off the walls. "You know, Liz, odd as it may be, I'm actually _not_ so fond of having a serious conversation when I'm dripping wet," I quipped evasively, taking a step forward. At that particular moment, I found myself wishing I'd thought to bring in clean clothes with me. "In a towel," I added deadpan a moment later, fixing her with a look of my own.

Liz rolled her eyes at me and took a step forward, unintimidated even as I rose to my full height. "Too bad, Ed, 'cause I am," she proclaimed decisively, giving me a daring look. She glanced me over once more, a flirtatious and mocking glint in her eyes. The comment had taken me aback some, but it was clear that she meant business and wasn't going to let me get out of any of this.

I sighed, already a little frustrated with her, and searched the room for something I could wear that was more secure than the pitiful towel currently wrapped around my waist. "Can you at least let me put some clothes on?" I asked a bit snappily. There were no robes in the room, and I was currently wearing the only somewhat large towel in the room. The only other option was the rug we were currently standing on.

Her eyes narrowed, and she scoffed a little, giving me yet another dismissive onceover. The series of looks she was giving me were really serving to destabilize my nerves, since I didn't really know what they meant, only that they were firing at my atoms and knocking electrons out of alignment, chipping away at me. "Why, afraid something'll come up?" Liz sneered, glancing down pointedly. Her words made me flush, not just with the reminder of my past humiliations but with the full guilt of what I'd just done in the shower.

There was nothing I could really say to that. It was all I could do to fix her with a somewhat stern, largely uncomfortable stare. I cleared my throat uncomfortably and motioned for her to start speaking. Might as well get this over with as soon as possible so I can get dressed faster. She licked her lips, undeterred, and began speaking with a military precision. "I hear that you and Sylvia are going out this Wednesday." Her voice and look were terse. She didn't congratulate me. I inclined my head, agreeing with her. Her eyes softened just a bit, giving me a look that was almost pitying. "She tried to keep it to herself this time. She really did. But she just couldn't hold back," she continued mockingly, strangely callously, I thought.

Lizzie batted her eyelashes in that same flirtatious, mocking way, rolling her eyes at the same time. "She was _so_ excited," she drawled sarcastically, voice just a little bit lower. Lizzie's eyes flashed, dark and quick like the ocean during a storm. She moved closer, movements recalling a tiger on the prowl. She cocked her head at me. "And so, so very reluctant to tell me. I really had to work to get it out of her. She really wanted it to be your little secret, just the two of you," she continued condescendingly, almost cruelly, pulling a face at me. She scoffed. "I don't know how she _ever_ thought she could keep it from me," she murmured, shaking her head.

Then she pulled her head up and looked me right in the eyes. Her eyes were unrelentingly hard like diamonds. "Wanna tell me what the _hell_ you're thinking? Making kissy-face with my best friend, and you think I'm not gonna know? Asking her out behind my back... really, Edwin?" she snarled ruthlessly, swinging her body, hands planted on her hips. She was on the verge of combusting. It was like watching a dirigible flying through the air and then poking a hole in it; I was just waiting for everything to blow up in a massive explosion of flames.

The sneering expression remained on her face, but Liz drew herself up very, very straight and let one of her hands slide off her hips. Strangely, the expression on her face had turned cold, her words measured, the exact opposite of the fire I'd expected. Everything about her was tightly controlled, and it reminded me of Casey. Not the dramatic, panicking Casey of my youth, but of the Casey who'd grown up and changed into someone a little more uptight, a little more impersonal, and a lot more in control. "Want to tell me why the two of you went to such... _effort_... to try and conceal this from me?" she said crisply, a little too calmly, continuing to stare me down. She stared at me for a minute, clearly waiting for an answer. She gave me a diffident look when I didn't answer her question. "I was always gonna find out, Ed, even if Sylvia didn't spill the beans," she continued confidently.

I knew she was right about that, but I was uncomfortable telling her why we had hidden it. Truthfully, I probably wouldn't have told her right away anyway, since I've liked Sylvia for a while, and it was something I just kinda wanted to keep to myself. So, in my mind at least, it wasn't a deliberate attempt to conceal it from Lizzie, since I'd always intended on telling her and knew I'd have to have this conversation with her. That, however, didn't mean I wanted to have this conversation with her. So, once again, I said nothing, which just made Lizzie even more annoyed.

She threw me a disgusted look. "Are the two of you, like, _dating_ now?" she asked faux-innocently, batting her eyelashes and making cutesy gestures with her hands, practically prancing around, skipping. I grimaced at her mockery but didn't say a word. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't have really answered that question. Sylvia and I hadn't discussed anything beyond that initial date anyway. "'Cause that would be just oh-too cute, now, wouldn't it?" she continued in that overly girly voice, clasping her hands together.

The way she was acting kind of made me feel sick. I sighed and asked wearily, "Why are you giving me such grief over this? Are you _jealous _or something?" I put extra force into that word, "jealous," because I knew it'd piss her off. Secretly, though, the thought had come to mind, and I couldn't deny it was plausible, given what Sylvia had related to me. And, after all, Lizzie knows what kind of guy I am, better than anyone. She has no serious, legitimate reason to object, then, to me dating Sylvia, unless she feels her own interests are threatened.

She made a face at me. "Or something, Edwin," she spat, completely bypassing my question. I raised a brow at her. It seemed like I'd caught her off-guard because she crossed her arms over her chest, a clear defensive gesture. "Maybe I just don't like the idea of you dating my best friend and completely screwing up another girl and another friendship," she retorted defensively. She's said it knowing it would sting.

That's something I hate about being so close to someone. When you're that close to someone, they know you and know exactly what to say to push your buttons. I tried and failed to combat the irrational strain of anger that washed over me. "It's not _my_ fault Michelle thinks you're having sex with me!" I interjected a little too boldly. Lizzie flinched at my words, though whether she flinched at their harshness, the transfer of blame unto her, or the blunt statement behind them, I do not know. I sucked in a breath, realizing that my heart was racing like I'd just run a mile. "And, for God's sake, Lizzie, I happen to **like** Sylvia! And you know that," I continued, trying to calm myself down. It was, however, still pretty apparent that I was furious, what with the flinging my hands into the air and shouting.

Liz looked mildly amused. The expression on her face was smug. She shrugged nonchalantly. "You're a pretty fickle guy, Edwin," she countered, pausing deliberately. "After all, wasn't it just three weeks ago that you had sex with Tanya?"

I stiffened, not pleased at the reminder of my indiscretion with Tanya. Lizzie's voice was bitter referring to it, making it plain that it still left a bad taste in her mouth. I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to relax a little. "I like Sylvia, and she likes me. We've talked it over, and we know what we're risking. We know what we're getting into here. We're serious about this, Liz," I said plainly and seriously. I held my arms out, showing her that I meant what I'd said. Sylvia had warned me Lizzie would react like this, but I hadn't expected it to be quite so bad.

"We, we, we, we, we," she muttered mockingly, halfheartedly, before retreating into silence.

She was as silent as outer space and stony-faced, expressionless but clearly not happy with the situation or, necessarily, willing to accept the reality of the situation. I took a step towards Lizzie and put my hand on her shoulder. She turned wordlessly to look up at me, as I'd intended. "Hey, Lizzie, how 'bout you tell me why you _really_ have a problem with me dating Sylvia? Does it make you uncomfortable?" I taunted, realizing as I said it that I sounded very much like Derek.

Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. "I think anyone would be uncomfortable in this kind of situation, as you well know." Her expression was stern and a bit dour. She was still cagey and on the defense, since she'd once again dodged my questions. She was alluding, of course, to my own discomfort with her dating my friends. I was, however, confused, since she'd set me up with Helen and Danielle and didn't seem to mind me dating Helen. And, hell, even Michelle! Lizzie had become close friends with her, had helped me out and given me advice. Why was Sylvia so different?

I had two options: 1. taking the hard line and pressing her until I got my answer, or 2. changing my tactics to elicit a different response. I know my weaknesses, and I'm not strong or pushy enough for that first tactic to work. Lizzie's as stubborn as a mule when she wants to be. I sighed deeply and schooled my features into a proper expression befitting an enamored man, all sincerity and longing. "I _really _like her, Lizzie. I care about Sylvia, really, I do. And I've had these feelings for a long time, and I think you know that..." I began earnestly, trailing off to give my statement more force. There's nothing like the power of emotional manipulation, which Lizzie knows just as well as I do. Lizzie just can't recognize it quite as well as I can because, among other reasons, she's not used to being on the receiving end, much less from me.

Then I narrowed my eyes a little, frowning slightly, and moved closer, lowering my voice an octave. "I just wonder why you would try and stop two people who really like each other from even going out. Does me dating your best friend really threaten you that much?" I mused curiously. I'd wanted to ask her that question for ages, and there it came, spilling out. I wondered if it made her feel guilty.

Lizzie fidgeted, looking even more uncomfortable and irascible, like she didn't even want to be standing in front of me. The flavor of our conversation was a familiar one. It took me back to when Casey liked Sam. Hadn't she told Derek something very similar? _Like me liking your best friend is so threatening to you..._ Sometimes, you know, I worry we're doomed to repeat their mistakes, that history will repeat itself in us and make the problem ten times worse. But we promised ourselves a long time ago, after we'd made up and gotten close again, after we'd seen the rift between Derek and Casey grow, that we wouldn't ever be like them. I've always thought that was a promise we could keep, that we're better than they were... but are we?

I don't want to think we're destined to become our siblings because I don't believe in destiny or fate (and I am _not_ my genes, to quote many a prominent geneticist), but this whole conversation makes me wonder... Will Lizzie be Casey, forever cool and unavailable, distant, always avoiding something bigger than herself? Am I destined to become my brother, mired in self-loathing and misery, worn down, defeated, disappointed because I'm always wanting more?

Then she smiled mischievously. I recognized it for the the poor attempt it was to distract me and cover for my questions. There was a nervousness underneath that coy smile. She bit her lip and sauntered closer, reaching towards me. She tugged on the knot at my hip playfully, leaning against me a little too heavily. Her smile was strained, a little too awkward, a little too much. Suddenly I was uncomfortable all over again, as her fingers came very close to untying my towel. She shrugged, looking down studiously. "You know I don't like sharing," she replied casually, as close to admitting it as she would come. There's never been much of an incentive in this family to say what you're really thinking and feeling, unless you're Casey, and she doesn't even know what she's really thinking and feeling most of the time.

She glanced up at me, toying with the knot distractedly. I inhaled sharply, but she didn't notice or else merely didn't register it. "Is that a crime?" she asked somewhat defensively, briefly looking down before meeting my gaze defiantly. I merely raised an eyebrow and gave her no more of an answer than a dirty look. She held her chin up high, placing the palm of her hand on my abdomen and bringing it up and across my chest, without even thinking of it. I inhaled extremely sharply at the unexpected but firm pressure, but if Lizzie noticed, she didn't say a word. She brought her other hand up to rest on my shoulder, hands kneading the skin there absently. "You're _my_ brother, _my_ best friend. You're mine," she told me petulantly, possessively.

At that point, aside from the primitive (read: humanoid species even less advanced than a Neanderthal, also known as the ubiquitous caveman) male thrill at those words, that spread down from my spine and every area of inflamed skin her hands had touched, I realized that we were standing, more or less, in an awkward sort of embrace. Her eyes were darkly intent, and there was a strange stillness to her that was wholly unfitting. Lizzie's a lot like a perpetual motion machine. She's restless and constantly doing something, going somewhere, fidgeting, never quite still or docile, no matter how hard she tries. We'd reached some sort of stalemate, and there were were, heads too close, staring at each other eye to eye in silence.

Finally, Liz broke the silence with a heavy sigh. She wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her head in the sinewy skin between my neck and shoulder unexpectedly. Her nose tickled my Adam's apple. It was all I could do to wrap my arms around her loosely; I didn't trust myself to do more. "I don't want to lose you, Ed," she murmured very softly. I could feel the vibrations of her words against my skin, just like I could feel the softness of her lips brushing over my pulse, and both contributed to make me come just a little unglued. This sudden surge of possessiveness on her part surprised me, stunned me further into silence, and my grip on her tightened reflexively as I brought her in closer.

It took me a few moments of standing there, leaning my head against hers and smelling her hair, for me to regain my bearings and cover for my shock. When it comes to Lizzie, I have this tendency to perceive her importance to me and my value of it as greater than my importance to her and her value of me. I pulled my head off of the top of hers just a little and leaned down to whisper to her directly. "Lose me?" I asked quietly, as if the thought had never occurred to me. Truly, though, I couldn't see myself ever losing her completely, even through deliberate effort on my part. She's too much a part of my life to ever truly be lost to me completely. After all, things can live on much longer in the mind than they can in the temporal world. We mythologize our own histories quite a bit, and Lizzie is a central figure in well over half of every one of the many stories that comprise my existence.

I shook my head, though she probably couldn't see it. She seemed distraught, from what I could feel of her breathing. "We're family, Liz, and that's forever..." I told her, meaning every word. Then, as gently as I could, I pried her face away from my neck and held her at arm's length, carefully ensuring she looked at me, directly into my eyes. I wanted to show her that I wasn't lying to her. "And that's **never** gonna happen. You couldn't lose me if you wanted to. Hell, _I_ couldn't shake you if I wanted to," I assured her, cracking a somewhat strained smile. Ultimately, I think I was reassuring the both of us because I was just as scared of losing her as she'd ever been of losing me. Lizzie giggled in spite of herself, and I thought I had convinced her for a brief moment of good humor.

Then, all of a sudden, she pushed me away. I was secretly relieved to no longer be so close, as enjoying the feeling of her in my arms felt dangerous. The look on her face showed that she was much more upset than I'd realized. "Yes, it _is_, Edwin! We can't be close like this forever. Come next year, you and me, we'll go our separate ways. And it's never going to be the same! We're _never_ going to be again what we are to each other now!" she shouted at me with a passion and vehemence that had rarely, if ever, been directed my way. She was in full gear, pacing like a runaway train and flinging her hands in the air. I tried not to show it, because one of us had to be the stable isotope, but what she said had shaken me too. She'd just said what I'd been thinking.

Just when I was about to attempt a clumsy change of subject asking how this related to Sylvia, our original topic of discussion, Lizzie continued, "And it's the same whenever you get a girlfriend. She doesn't like me, and so we spend less time together, and I don't ever _see_ you. And you're distant and distracted, and you spend all your time with her. You start to tell her things you don't tell me. You confide in her, tell her how you feel..." The pieces of evidence suddenly clicked together, and it registered just what, exactly, this whole sidebar had to do with Sylvia.

Can you blame me, though? Interpreting emotions is hardly my strong suit, and it's very difficult to correctly interpret the emotions and motivations of those closest to us because, well, there's a point when you're just too close to judge with an unbiased, subjective eye (and psychology is hardly a hard science!). Lizzie _was_ threatened by her friend, threatened enough that she fully expected Sylvia to become a serious girlfriend of mine, which was another assurance that we were suited for each other, as she knew the both of us best. In some respects, too, she was actually right. That sort of thing did happen when things with Michelle and I got serious, although I had been trying to distance myself from Lizzie for other, more rational reasons, which amplified the natural process.

Certainly I'd noticed the same process occurring with most of my male friends and with Lizzie, whenever her boyfriend started to view me as a threat and tried subtly to remove her from my presence. Of course, never one to be vulnerable and risk getting hurt, Lizzie rarely, if ever, confided in her many admirers or beaus, with the exception of Jamie. After all, like me, Lizzie was almost never engaged in serious relationships, and her largely-replaceable boyfriends tended to just come and go. Call our inability to form serious relationships a natural side-effect of the fickleness of our youth, a pathological reaction to our parents' divorces, or a logical result of our extreme codependency, or whatever you will.

She was working herself up into a frenzy, and at that moment, she stopped pacing, a bit red in the face, and just stared at me, horror-stricken. I wanted to reach out and touch her, calm the raging beast, because she was on the verge of tears, but I didn't know what to do in an unprecedented situation like that. She just looked at me, so utterly miserable, and said plainly, unhappily, "And it's like I'm _just_ your sister, and I'm not. We both know I'm not. I'm not _just_ your sister, just like you're not _just_ my brother. We're more to each other than that." I thought she was going to cry for a second there. The conviction of her address and the fact that we were so fully and perfectly in agreement impressed me.

I felt exactly the same every time she had a boyfriend, and I was relegated to something less, to being someone less important than I really was. Because we're not just sister and brother, and we're not just friends. Our relationship cannot be characterized so easily, in such shades of black and white. We're family on the very fundamental level, but we're closer than that still. I nodded dumbly, unable to say anything to that, as she'd already said exactly what I'd always thought. What we are to each other is, quite simply, something I cannot put into words. In life, no matter how hard I try, there are some things that just cannot be empirically quantified. "And, Ed, one way or another, we are going to lose each other, sooner or later. It's only a matter of time," Liz said terribly fatalistically, crossing an arm over her chest.

Although I knew she was right, and I'd been thinking the same thing for months... and Sandy had said as much... and that it was completely rational and statistically and mathematically and reasonably supported... When you get down to it, I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to face the inevitability of it, the necessity of change. Because I don't believe in fate. So I lied to her. I grabbed her by the arms firmly, looking her in the eyes. "Lizzie, we'll always be in each other's lives..." She tilted her head a little and gave me a skeptical look. I tightened my grip on her, as if that would reassure her. "You are **never** going to lose me," I told her, promised her, really, even though I knew it was a lie.

Once again, there weren't words strong enough to express my sentiments. I wanted to somehow reassure her with a gesture, but I couldn't think of a gesture that could reinforce those feelings. I could sense, though, from her watery gaze, that she didn't entirely believe me. She glanced away from me, as if she was unable to look at me, biting her lip, and changed the subject awkwardly. "I... might not like it, but I guess you can date her. I mean, you have my permission," she practically stammered, decidedly not looking at me. I was still trying to wrap my mind around her giving me permission to date whom I wanted to date when she abruptly continued speaking. "But, you break her heart, and I break you, Ed," she muttered threateningly, brandishing a clenched fist.

That comment both surprised and offended me. I'm not my brother, after all, and I hardly intend to break any hearts. Besides, I like to consider myself a fairly considerate, compassionate man, and I don't want to hurt anyone, at least, not if I actually care about them. I gritted my teeth and threw her a look. "I'm your brother and your best friend, Lizzie. You really think I'm gonna do that? Do you know me at all?" I grunted, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I wasn't quite able to keep the outrage out of my tone, though. What I really meant was: You'd choose her side over mine? When I am, after all, her best friend and family... and, after all this time, you'd really think she knows what kind of guy I am. And, c'mon, I've known her longer (admittedly by like, a week or so, but still!)!

I sighed and grabbed her hand softly, squeezing it. "I know that hurting her is just the same as hurting you, and, Lizzie, you've got to believe me, that is the _last_ thing I ever want to do," I swore. That time I meant that promise. I was looking right at her, and our gazes connected in that wordless way we have of passing understanding to each other. She smiled at me faintly, eyes still wet, and hugged me a little too tightly.

While she believed me on that account, I sensed that she was holding something back from me. I knew she'd tell me sooner or later; she always did. Lizzie sighed and fell into me just a little bit more. "Don't lie to me, Ed. I know you better than anyone else, and I know when you're lying, okay? So don't make it harder by denying the inevitable. We're going to grow apart. It's going to happen. We'll go away to university, and you'll meet a girl, and you'll get married. And I'll meet a guy, and I'll get married. And we'll have families of our own. And then we'll only see each other at family reunions and maybe Christmas or Thanksgiving. And we'll have totally separate lives and communicate through a couple phone calls a year and a couple cards in the mail. That's just how it's gonna be," she mumbled, sniffling as she wrapped her arms around my neck more securely.

In reality, I knew that was the more probable outcome, yes. Maybe that would actually happen if Lizzie was _just_ my sister. But, as she pointed out earlier, she's not just my sister. She's my best friend, and we're so much closer than two siblings who can barely stand to be in the same room together. And I'm not going to let that go if I can help it. "Liz," I began, pulling back a little so I could get a proper look at her, "that's not how it's going to be. You're thinking about Marti and me. You are my _best_ friend, and that's not going to stop just because we go different places." It will change, as of course it must, but I'm not the type to drop my best friend of eight years. Lizzie gave me a doubtful, woeful look that sort of broke something inside of me. And then, suddenly, I had to _show_ her, and next thing I knew, I was pressing my lips to hers without a second thought.

Liz tilted her head to the side and curled her fingers around the hair at the base of my neck, pulling me towards her just a little. I was enjoying it but pulled back before she could slip her tongue into my mouth, as I was still wearing a towel and too much intimate contact was still very much playing with fire. Lizzie exhaled, sounding immensely satisfied, which made me suddenly all too aware of the towel and the moisture lingering on some parts of my skin. Her hands released my hair and started down my back, smoothing over the muscles until her hands came to rest awkwardly on my lower back, just barely above my ass. Her fingers traced the sensitive flesh above the towel distractedly. I pulled away from her stiffly.

Lizzie smiled and leaned her forehead against mine. She took one hand off of my back and held it up, offering me her finger. "You pinkie-promise?" she asked hesitantly, wiggling her finger. I smiled back, nodding, and linked my pinkie finger with hers, shaking it. Then, without thinking of it, I brushed her hair away from her face, running my fingers through it. Liz made a face at me but bore the hair-tousling goodnaturedly. "Edwin, your hand is wet. And, bro, I _so_ don't want to think about where that hand has been lately," she told me firmly, giving me a look. I drew my hand back in shame (because it was _that_ hand), and Lizzie gave me a bit of a miffed look but hugged me again.

While she was in my arms, I thought back to what she'd said earlier, when I was in the shower, about Derek. And I spared a moment to think about how it made me feel. At the time, I'd barely given it a second of thought, but now my stomach felt funny at the thought. At first, it had been merely incomprehensible to me. But I get it, wanting to be someone else, to feel like someone different... hating some part of yourself that much that you just want to change everything. Feeling not good enough to stay yourself. And then, then it felt like a punch in the stomach, and I couldn't ignore it anymore. I leaned my forehead against hers again and looked into her eyes.

Her expression turned solemn upon seeing the seriousness of my features, and she frowned a bit, confused. "Why do you want to be someone else? What's wrong with who you are?" I asked thoughtlessly. Lizzie's eyes widened, but she didn't answer the question. She merely looked down, chewing on her bottom lip, as if ashamed. She tried to pull away, tried to fake a little smile, but it was clear that she wasn't entirely happy or ready to have an actual conversation about this. I sighed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "For what it's worth, Liz, I think the person you are is perfect," I murmured, wholly meaning it.

Her head shot up and banged into mine hard enough to make me rub my head. Her eyes were wide, and she was woefully unprepared to expect, let alone accept, the compliment. Then she glanced down briefly and smiled at me shyly, pleasantly silent for a long moment, as if she couldn't find the words. After a small eternity, she stammered, vaguely awestruck, "Um, _wow... _Thanks, Ed. That means... it means a lot." Then she squeezed my hand and went to brush her teeth while I got dressed (somewhat uncomfortably, even though her eyes never strayed from the mirror). After she was done, though, she turned around to flash me another smile before heading back down to the girls. I returned it, feeling good about myself for once.

No matter what, when Lizzie and I have a problem, we always work it out. Talk it out. And this proves it. I stood my ground, told her how I felt, and I'm going to date Sylvia. I've even got Lizzie's blessing, which of course I don't really need, even though she is my best friend, because I am an adult now. And a man, and my own person, and I don't need her approval to do something I want to do and have extensively considered. So, why do I feel like I haven't resolved anything, any of those concerns?

Maybe because I haven't. No matter what I told Lizzie, no matter what I promised (and what, exactly, did I promise?), I can't fight the inevitable, the supremely probable. Things are going to change, no matter how hard I fight it, and Lizzie and I, our relationship will not and cannot be the same. And, ultimately, I can't reconcile that. I'm going to have to face losing this relationship as I know it... sooner or later.

I can't escape it. I'm going to lose her.

Loren ;*

Next chapter: Session with Paul (eee! I'm so excited, and I really hope I did him justice because I'm worried and he's changed and I looove Paul), lead-up to Ed's date with Sylvia, and lots of cute little fluffy moments with our Wonder Twins. Promise it's not all just filler. Really, I am building up to the Christmas festivities in this fic... Then it'll be crazy! But I digress. Reviews are HIGHLY appreciated! And adored. And worshipped. But, they do have no bearing on my updating ability or timing... now, my motivation, well, that's quite another story indeed, isn't it? Hint. ;)


	17. Complexity

Okay, so several things... One, I'm gonna start out by saying that this was originally all supposed to be one chapter, with the Paul talk and the Sylvia date in the same chapter and everything. But I looked at it, 'cause I didn't know how long it was, and I've been sort of writing it in bits and pieces, like, nonlinearly, which is something I kind of really dislike doing, incidentally, but I do it when I'm blocked 'cause what the hell else am I gonna do, not write?... and, anyways, so I didn't really know how long it was. And the stuff I'd finished, and the stuff I hadn't finished added up to like, 29 pages. And then there's like other stuff I had to include. And, I dunno why, but it just seemed really long. And, yes, I know that this is utterly ridiculous because, like, 29 pages should be nothing for me because like, I've done stuff almost twice that. And the last chapter was longer than this one is... But, ugh, whatever. I just thought it'd be too much... and, I dunno, I wanted to give Ed a fair shake at a date with Sylvia, you know? Because I felt I owe it to him to do it right, which is yeah, kinda ridiculous, but when I don't want to write something or don't enjoy writing it, that tends to reflect on the reader's feelings and thoughts on the subject. So when I don't like a character or writing them, it shows. And I don't want you not to like them. And, while it didn't quite work, and I didn't really break it up with too much finesse, because you can kinda tell it was supposed to be one... I do sorta like how it turned out.

Secondly, I apologize (get it, a-Paul-o-gize. Sorry, bad joke) if Paul is out-of-character, but he's always really hard to characterize... and hey, the years have changed him too! ;) But, point is, I really like Paul, and I really enjoy getting a change to involve him in the story, and so I'm thrilled that he's in here. And, yes, before you ask, odds are he'll be showing up again fairly soon. ;) I'm excited to see what you think of him, I guess. And I like the rest of the chapter a whole hell of a lot, as hopefully will you...

As for this next chapter, it kind of begins to delve into some of the frustration that Edwin has with his family. Which is fairly significant, as he has a brother complex, sister complex, hates his bio-sis, as is largely ambivalent about his other siblings and family members, since he's resigned himself to the fact that they don't seem to care about him or pay him significant attention. So, anyway, I'm not gonna lie here, this is influenced by my experiences of graduation. Which may or may not filter into the story... I wrote this when I was pretty frustrated with my own family, so there... Because when it's your graduation, you're freaking out a little and trying not to think about the uncertainty that lies ahead and, well, what's changing and what you're gonna leave behind. Because it's not the same. Hell, even when you're actually graduating, there's this flurry of very confusing feelings. But when you're not graduating, it stirs up all kinds of other feelings. And not all pretty or sappy feelings, either.

Anyway, what I was trying to get at, before I get personal there (but I do get personal anyways, so feel free to skip it, since I doubt many people read these things, but it helps to get the feelings out there, I guess), is that there are some points when you just want to get the hell away from your family. As much as you love them. I mean, just today (as in the day I was writing this part of the author's note, which was, unbelievably, at the beginning of my summer) I was mad at every single member of my nuclear family. Even myself. Because Dad left me here to deal with the crazies by myself, and tomorrow's the brother's party, and my brother was bitching about my chewing (with my mouth closed. Asshole), and my mom took his side, after all I helped her with. And it's like, really, Mom, really? After I waste my time shopping with you or sitting in the car with you or waiting around for you? And, it's like, I know my brother's _never_ going to say thanks. Or acknowledge all the stuff I did for him, all the times I helped him or got people to help him, everything I've done for his stupid party and brunch. Hell, I, along with my whole damn family, am part of him getting to this point. And not supportively or that, but like, we all actually did stuff. Like homework, assignments, explaining things to him. Or getting him tutors. Or pressuring him. But, like, I have better, more enjoyable things to do with my time than crop photos and scan things and put the mothereffing photos of my brother in little picture corners, which makes me want to shoot things because it just proves that my brother _hates_ me even when he's not there in person. Or getting two hours of sleep and waking up at crack o' dawn to go to his godforsaken boring Class Day that he doesn't even want to be at. But I do these things because I love him and I love my mom, and I want to help them because I care about them and, damn it, family is a lot more important to me than I ever realized before college. And how the hell does he repay me? No acknowledgment. No thanks. He repays me by shoving me away and saying I embarrass him and threatening me and all that. And, like, he's always so pissy and everything, and he knows I'm going to go away for a year, and he doesn't care. *sigh* My brother is a lot like Derek. I dunno if you gathered that, but Derek reminds me a hell of a lot of my brother... what with the inability to express his emotions and attitude and all that. Only my brother's moodier and less funny and clever. But I digress.

The point is that this chapter delves a bit more into Ed's feelings and perceptions, and well... if I told you the other bit, I'd spoil things, so I won't. Point is I own no one, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Oh, and reviews. I desire them like I desire soda and air. Make of that what you will.

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**Complexity:** The degree of difficulty needed to predict a system's changing properties, which consists of many intricately arranged, connected, and interacting parts.

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Apparently, despite the fact that it's finals week, I still have to have an appointment with Paul. I am, apparently, that much of a danger to other students. At our last appointment, I'd managed to avoid talking about sensitive issues by simply recounting the incident and talking about academic issues, lighter sorts of things. To be honest, I didn't really understand why Casey had found going to him so helpful. He is ridiculously easy-going, easy enough to lead where I wanted, if I so choose. Paul and I had minimum associations before I punched Brent because he is my guidance counselor, but he was still plenty surprised to see me, which gave me a bit more leeway with him.

I walked into his office after finishing my chem final, forty minutes early, of course. Paul glanced up from his papers and smiled at me. "Hello, Edwin. Come in and have a seat," he beckoned. I nodded and shut the door behind me before sitting directly across from him. I felt uncomfortable in the chair, knowing it more or less had Casey's ass imprinted in it. "How are you? How are your finals going?" he asked brightly. It is far too early in the morning for a human being, much less a psychologist-type to be so chipper.

"Fine," I told him unenthusiastically, crossing my arms over my chest. Paul looked like he was waiting for me to say something. I suppose I could've asked him how he was doing, but I didn't really feel like it. I'd been up the whole night studying with Lizzie, helping her cram for Chemistry, and all I wanted to do was finish up here, eat, go home, and pass out until my date with Sylvia.

Paul sighed. "As much fun as sitting in silence is, Edwin, I think it's high time we discuss some things," he said calmly, looking fairly unimpressed. He paused for a moment, reaching down and pulling out my file. He flipped it to the page that had the fight report on it. We'd been over the details last time, but by the look of him, he wanted to go a little more in depth. "You told Principal Lassiter that Brent said some things about your sister, that he went too far, and that's why you punched him. Edwin, what did Brent say about your sister? What did he say about your sister that made you so upset?" Paul asked insistently. I saw in his eyes that he wasn't about to back down and thought about what I could possibly say to satisfy him. I wasn't about to get graphic.

I shrugged diffidently. "He said some obscene things, okay? He talked about my sister like she was a piece of meat... It was disrespectful and insulting to the both of us," I told him tersely. I made sure to look at Paul, lest he think I was hiding something. It was more truthful than I'd been with anyone else, and I hoped that would be enough... but it wasn't as if I couldn't remember every single word he said verbatim. Paul regarded me quietly for a moment, idly stroking his chin.

My posture was tense and stiff; I was careless about that. Surprisingly, he didn't ask me to clarify that. "Let's talk a bit more about that... You have three sisters, so... Which sister was he talking about?" he questioned. He eyed me carefully, as if watching for something. He had deliberately given me an easy, inoffensive question to answer. He was testing me, working up to extracting the information he wanted from me.

"Lizzie," I muttered irritably. I said it low so he'd have to lean forward and strain his ears a bit to catch it. Paul heard nonetheless and nodded quietly.

He peered at me, cocking his head a little. "Your sister, she's sort of a touchy subject with you, isn't she?" he observed coolly. He was playing it much more distantly than I expected, though I suppose I must be frustrating him. I'm hardly as up-front or open as my older siblings. I shrugged, trying to relax my posture, trying not to roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair, even though my first instinct was to ask him what he'd heard. Could he have heard something? C'mon, Edwin, he's a teacher, and that's ridiculous.

Seeing this had gotten him nowhere, Paul changed the subject. The glint in his eye, though, indicated that he thought he was going to return to that subject later. He smiled familiarly, politely, leaning forward a little, but I could tell it was a vaguely irritated smile. He threaded his fingers together. "So, Edwin, how's your family? Casey and Derek should both be about ready to graduate... and you and Lizzie too, right?" he asked brightly, looking genuinely interested in the topic. That being said, I had the feeling he was trying to gauge my reaction. I told him my family was good, doing fine, and then I nodded, saying he was right about the upcoming graduations.

He nodded absently before reclining in his chair a little and steepling his fingers. "Casey told me she's getting married to Noel this June," he said calmly, smiling a little. He chuckled a little. "A wedding is... equal parts excitement and anxiety. I can only imagine how Casey's dealing with it..." he added both fondly and sympathetically. Really? He can only imagine? I'm surprised he doesn't _know._ Lizzie can't be the **only** one she's been bugging about this. He offered me a small smile. _That_ I could talk about.

I nodded heartily. "We're all happy for her," I said, lying through my teeth. Thing is, I felt bad for telling a lie, so I sought to qualify my statement. "Mo-Nora thinks it's too soon. She, um, wants Casey to be careful. Do some counseling first so she knows it's the right thing to do," I volunteered a bit anxiously. Paul broke out into a grin and told me that Casey had called him and practically demanded that he do premarital counseling with them. Sometimes I wonder if poor Noel knows what he's getting into with her, really. I shrugged. "I don't really care much. Noel's a nice guy... And if he can put up with Casey's crazy... why not?" I said. I sounded disturbingly like the casual nonchalance Derek wished he could (and tried to) achieve in matters regarding Casey. Paul opened his mouth and looked like he was going to say something, so I leaned back in my chair and sighed. "She's driving Lizzie crazy with it... I don't know why, but Lizzie's not really keen on the idea. And not just because she's dealing with Bridezilla. It's something else," I blurted. It was either that or trying to quantify what I knew of Derek's reaction.

Frankly, I can't understand Derek's reaction, not without knowing the beginning circumstances. Even listing out the different facets of his reaction doesn't make sense: the drinking, the weariness, the anxiety, the bitterness, and so on... Paul frowned and looked like he was going to comment on that or ask me another question, but he ultimately thought better of it and changed the subject yet again. He brought up the subject of my college applications and asked me where I thought I was going to go. I informed him that as it is barely December, I don't even know which schools have accepted me, let alone which one of them I was going to choose. Paul gave me a skeptical look, insisting I must have some idea.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, Paul was kind of right. I can weigh the pros and cons all I want, but there is ultimately that elusive quality of whether or not I like it, whether or not it's a good fit... which is an amalgamation of my impressions, prejudices, experiences, values, interaction with the school, and so forth, things even I cannot quantify. I shrugged and answered him, "Well, there's UW, UBC, RIT, U of T, Mount A... U of A... and Queens, I guess." To be honest, I'm leaning more towards UW and UBC, although UBC, U of A, RIT, and Mount A all have the advantage of being significantly far away from my family.

Paul gave me a curious look, as I suppose my tone didn't betray any particular partiality for a single school. He leaned forward slightly. "Edwin, you're a talented guy with a lot of options... What do you want to do in the future?" he asked serenely. As he's my guidance counselor, Paul's seen my transcript and my test scores. He knows where I stand academically. He (thinks he) knows what I can do. At the very least, he knows what I've done.

I shrugged. I've had a lot of other things to think of lately, and university is not one of my bigger concerns. I already did that stuff and sent it out long ago, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm not really thinking about that until April when I start getting letters back. There's still Casey's wedding, a semester of school ahead of me, papers, projects, three graduations including my own, the holidays, and parties to attend... all of which weigh heavier on my mind. "I have diverse interests... and I don't know. But I do know I don't have to decide that now," I told him frankly.

Paul raised an eyebrow because I don't seem like the kind of guy who doesn't have a plan. That's more of my brother's style. I didn't think I would go into university undecided either. A moment later, though, I qualified that statement. "Nothing with medicine, though. Or animals. Or agriculture. Or oil, 'cause I think Lizzie would murder me in my sleep if I became a petroleum engineer..." I rambled. That part's true, too. Lizzie's one of those people who cleans animals up after oil spills, like in the Dawn commercials. Paul grinned a little and wrote something down, looking a little too interested. "I mean, I'm passionate about astrophysics and chaos theory, among other things, like quantum and nuclear physics, but you tell me how that translates into any sort of career," I continued, feeling suddenly nervous for some reason.

He seemed to contemplate this for a minute before launching into the next topic (I presume because Paul doesn't know too much about any of the subjects I mentioned). "What about business?" he asked, probably remembering my early fascination with ways of making money. That was before I started using geometry and Derek's tutelage to hustle pool.

I leaned back in my chair, thinking it over. I'd always been interested in money, but I had never really had much interest in running a business. Finding clients, getting money out of them, marketing my product, inventing things... that had always been my area of interest. In terms of day-to-day management, paying bills, jumping through hoops, going to meetings, trading stocks, I couldn't care less. I answered finally, "Well... don't get me wrong, I like business. And I like making money, obviously. But I don't have the right personality for that sort of thing, and besides, well... isn't it sort of... soulless?" I said the last bit a little uncertainly because I wasn't sure that was the right word. That word just stuck in my head because Lizzie and her enviro-friends bat it around all the time, but it wasn't entirely without merit. Businesspeople are cutthroat and... it's all about the profit margins, you know?

At that moment, I wondered at Paul's sudden interest in my interests and future plans. Was it just because he was my guidance counselor? Or, was it, I wondered, a means of gaining my trust just so he could catch me off-guard with one of those questions I'd refused to answer. "Aren't we here to talk about why I punched Brent?" I asked curiously.

Paul smirked. "I didn't expect you to bring that up again," he quipped, obviously interested. He said that like he thought I actually wanted to talk about Brent, which made me realize I should've just shut my mouth and started yammering on about my finals or something. He suddenly took on a much more serious look. "Why don't we talk a bit more about your relationship with Lizzie?" he asked in one of those very irritating therapist voices, which is sort of annoying, since he was an amateur psychologist for most of his career. He was just a computer-science teacher who'd minored in psychology in college and took the job because teacher salaries really are that pitiful, and he wasn't athletic enough to be a coach. He actually still teaches computer science, but they pay him for both jobs. They increased his pay after he got the PhD and still wanted to stick around and work with the kids.

I have half a mind to think he did it because he wanted to see if Lizzie and I turned out like our older siblings. I shrugged, deliberately trying not to assume my traditional defensive position because he's had enough training to pick up on that. Even though he'd said that Lizzie was a bit of a sore spot with me, I didn't want to show him just how sore a spot it had been getting in recent months. That was sure to raise unpleasant questions. I shrugged, feigning nonchalance and feeling a bit uncomfortable. "She's my sister and my best friend, and that just about sums it up. What else do you want me to say?"

Paul nodded, clearly intrigued by this topic and, unfortunately for me, going to keep with it. I gave him a fairly sharp look, silently asking him just what, exactly, he thought was so interesting. Surprisingly, Paul noticed and answered, "I just thought it was interesting how you call her your sister. You don't make the distinction like Derek does. That must make it harder." My heart started racing at that last statement, since my mind almost immediately went into the gutter, and I was worried about what, exactly, he was referencing. Seeming to sense my faint state of panic, Paul elaborated on that, "It can hardly be easy, being friends with your step-sister." For some reason, I flinched at that word. Then Paul continued speaking and made it even worse, "It sure wasn't for your brother and stepsister."

I grimaced at the way he put that and how he'd just implied that Derek and Casey were ever truly friends. Had he talked to Casey about that in a while? If she was half as skittish about Derek as he is about her, I bet she steered him away from that particular topic or pretended like Derek wasn't an issue anymore just because they went to separate colleges. When I didn't say anything, Paul continued making observations and asking questions. "Do you consider Lizzie your sister? Like Marti?"

And there was that pain-in-the-ass question. Because of course I consider Lizzie my sister, but I can't compare Lizzie to Marti because it's a different dynamic. "Of course I consider Lizzie my sister. She may not be my blood, but she's my family, same as Marti... Stepsister, sister... same difference," I told him promptly. The words I'd just said resounded unpleasantly in my head after I said them, because I knew it was a lie. Same difference... it made me kind of dizzy because it felt like I'd heard those words used before somewhere... But I also knew that Lizzie was my _sister_. Paul got a funny look on his face, and I kept talking because I couldn't have him thinking I thought of Lizzie and Marti in the same ways.

I sighed. "But you've got to understand, Paul, that it's not the same because I'm not _friends _with Marti. I love them both, but Lizzie's my best friend. She's my favorite person in the world," I told him urgently, for some reason desperately needing him to understand. On some level, I realized that I should maybe watch what I was saying around Paul, really, I did, but I didn't think to do so. Every word I said was true, and maybe that was the scary part. I'd never really said or thought before that Lizzie was my favorite person in the whole world, but she is, as of this moment. I'd known it before, too, for a while, kept it to myself. Not my mother, not my father, not any girlfriend, but **Lizzie**. It's kind of a powerful revelation to have, realizing that your sister and best friend is not only the most important person in your life but also that she means more to you than any other human being (or creature or object, for that matter) on earth.

If string theory is actually correct, not that I particularly buy into it (though I suppose it is an interesting thought exercise and really puts things into perspective, helping you learn not to take things for granted), I cannot vouch for the multiverse or alternate universes, but I'd like to think that I would still feel the same in a different universe. Of course, in some of those theoretical universes, humanity has probably annihilated itself long before I was ever born, or we were never born because our parents died or married other people, or Lizzie and I have never met, or, worse still, Dad and Nora got an extremely ugly divorce... or we were the two siblings who hated each other in the first place, and the show is called Life with Edwin. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? It would never have been called Life with Edwin; I'm nowhere near that important! Life with Lizzie... Hm. It just goes to show you how much of an effect changing one little thing can have on the future.

Paul smiled secretively to himself for a moment. I'd paused there, struck a little dumb by that revelation and distraction, but I hadn't intended to stop. "Is she really? In the entire world?" he asked in a funny, almost disbelieving tone of voice. I hated his tone because it implied that he knew something I didn't, and that he was mildly amused by it.

Since I didn't appreciate his tone or him questioning my sincerity, my reply was a bit snappish. "Yeah. I don't say things I don't mean," I said bluntly. Especially about Lizzie, I added on my mind. Paul raised his eyebrows at the comment, but I didn't really care what he thought about me at that point. "She's the one constant in my life. She's been there for me for the past eight years. I don't know what I'd do without her," I insisted firmly. Lizzie is the one person I know I can always always turn to. She's always been there for me, and that's invaluable. We're so close because, in a family like ours, we had to take care of each other because everyone else was too busy or distracted to rely on. So we helped ourselves through Derek and Casey's fights, the marriage, grade school, puberty, our siblings' graduation, Sebastian's birth, break-ups, and all the little situations of daily life.

This too seemed to surprise Paul, although whether it was my vehemence or what I'd actually said I can only guess at. It was weird, though, because I'd said that before, to Lizzie, even, many a time, and it was a fact of life to me. But I guess others don't get that because they don't know what it's like at home, growing up the way we did in our siblings' shadows, sandwiched between oldest and youngest and sort of left alone to our own devices. Made us independent from our parents, I think, but fiercely dependent on each other. "How long has it been that way with you two?" he asked, though I could tell it wasn't really what he wanted to ask me.

I shrugged. That wasn't something I particularly thought about. They say that it's not the destination that matters but the journey; forgive me if I disagree. "Since the first year, maybe? We had so much in common, so we really couldn't help it. We had to stand up for ourselves, and we couldn't do it on our own. It happened kind of gradually, and it just got stronger over the years..." I told him slowly, distracted thinking about it. I wanted to say more, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. How could I explain it? Paul couldn't understand because he's not us, and he doesn't know how it is.

Paul, however, thought I was searching for a word, so he finished my sentence. "This _need_... you have for each other..." he supplied a little too helpfully, looking a bit eager, really. I turned to look at him, perplexed and slightly disturbed. Paul threw me a look. "That's what it is, isn't it? A need?" he needled. Honestly, I'd never really thought of it like that. I know I need Lizzie just like she needs me, but I'd never thought of it as a mutual need for each other. And I realize that's semantics, more or less, and it shouldn't actually make a difference, but it does. And what was I supposed to say to a statement like that that made it sound wrong to _need_ each other?

After all, homo sapiens is a social animal. It is a product of our humanity that we need other beings, from our parents to our friends to our mates to our own children. If you don't need people, you don't go on to propagate the species and reproduce. Because, on a biological level, that is the purpose of all life, to duplicate itself and carry on. All of which Lizzie could tell you herself with a few more psychological and sociological phrases inserted in there because that's more her thing than mine... and she took Sociology last year, and Mrs. Martinez remembered her from Derek and Casey's video and was kind of a little in love with her. So it was no surprise that she picked Liz to make a video instead of a paper, and can you guess who was the star of that little video?

Hanging my head in a mixture of silent acknowledgment and shame was all I could do. A few traitorous moments later, I managed a shrug that was more defeated than dismissive. Then Paul really threw me for a loop, no doubt sensing the weakness and uncertainty behind my sudden concession, and asked me something completely out of the blue. "Now, Edwin, tell me exactly what Brent said about your sister." It was a command, not a question, and all I could do for a minute was look at him, mouth gaping open. His eyes were surprisingly steely, and I wanted to speak despite myself.

I knew I had to give him specifics, but I had to think for a good minute. My throat felt dry, unpleasantly so, and I swallowed hard before speaking. It didn't help. I made sure to look Paul in the eye, lest he think I was lying, and then proceeded, licking my lips. "Brent came up to me, and he said my sister was hot and that he wanted to take her for a ride. I told him to stop talking about her, but he didn't. He started antagonizing me and... acting like he actually had a chance with her. I said there was no way in hell Lizzie would ever date him. And then he started talking about her like a sexual object... screwing and all that... An-and then I told him how much of a loser he was. He said something I couldn't stand, something below the belt, and I snapped, and then I punched him and walked away," I recited. It was a lot harder than I thought it'd be.

Paul eyed me suspiciously, like he suspected there was something I wasn't telling him. He leaned forward a bit more, scooting closer, planting his hands hard on the desk. He leveraged his height over me a bit. "And what exactly did he say to you that made you snap, Edwin?" He didn't look away from me either but instead zeroed in on me, staring and staring until I felt like I was going to leap out of my skin.

I sighed and looked down, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly. I wasn't going to say the exact phrase because thinking about it made me feel dirty and ashamed, and I certainly wasn't going to repeat something like that to a teacher. But I could tell him generalities. After all, he'd probably heard the rumors, given the way he was pushing. I glanced up at him and fought the urge to look away automatically. It wasn't as successful as I'd hoped. "He... he said a lot of insulting things about me and Lizzie. He kept... saying stuff about me wanting to have... to have sex with her," I managed, or, rather, stuttered.

Apparently, that only _moderately_ surprised Paul, as his eyebrows barely shot up at all. But, after years of dealing with Derek and Casey, I'm sure nothing surprises him anymore. "And you're uncomfortable with that idea?" he asked slowly, giving me a weird look.

For a moment, I just sort of gaped at him. Why would I not be? What kind of brother would I be if I said yes to that question? Did he honestly expect me to say anything other than yes? When I regained my wits, I damn near shouted, "Of course! She's my _**sister**_!" I fortunately left the swear words in my head out of those two extremely awkward sentences. Why did I feel uncomfortably like a broken record stuck on loop whenever I said that? Probably because I'm so sick of saying it?

If I didn't know better, I would've said that Paul smirked. His expression was serene, nonjudgmental, and enigmatic. I didn't know what to make of it, but it disturbed and unsettled me. "What is it in particular about that comment that made you so uncomfortable?" he asked carefully. I gave him a look, like, seriously, was he kidding me here? However, Paul wasn't kidding, apparently, because he asked yet another question. "What is it? Are you not attracted to Lizzie?" he continued somewhat impatiently.

I might have choked a little on my own saliva there. The silence wasn't really working for me, but at that moment, it was all I could do to shake my head no vigorously and swallow hard to try and get rid of that whole choking feeling. "She's my sister," I repeated dumbly, blank look still on my face. Why does Paul not see that this is the answer to the question? Does he have a sister? Somehow I don't think he would appreciate shrinks asking him whether or not he wants to have sex with her, if he does. Also, seriously, what the hell! Paul isn't supposed to be so... creepily encouraging about quasi-incestuous relationships! What kind of counselor is he? Oh, right, the kind that got his PhD by writing about the dysfunctional (insert slightly disturbing adjective here) relationship between my older brother and stepsister. To this date, you know, none of us have actually seen that dissertation, and it really makes me wonder just what, exactly, he wrote about those two screwballs. Maybe I should ask. People with PhDs love to brag about them and show off their theses... but then again, I'm not sure I'd want to see his conclusions and his reasoning. I'd probably learn far more about the dynamics of stepsibling relationships than I have ever wanted to know.

Paul chuckled faintly, leaning back comfortably in his chair. He steepled his fingers, looking mildly amused. "Well, Edwin, that isn't really an answer to either of my questions, now is it? That's an excuse," he remarked wryly. His eyes glinted in a way that totally managed to creep me the hell out. But his name does sound a whole hell of a lot like Creepy, so why the hell am I surprised by this development? Then he paused artfully for a moment, being an evil genius, and continued to floor me with humiliating questions. It was kind of like Chinese water torture, only with a mild acid instead to eat away at my skin, drop by drop. "Do you not want to have sex with Lizzie?" he said clearly and slowly, as if I was mentally challenged and couldn't follow complex topics.

I outright gaped at him but found words more quickly this time. "No, I don't want to..." I stumbled a little here because it was just that uncomfortable and well, inconceivable to think of, much less in the black and white terms he'd laid it out in. "...to _do_ that!" I exclaimed in a voice that was embarrassingly high, like a squeal. One could practically hear the squeamishness in my tone. Paul unsuccessfully tried to hide a fit of snickers by coughing, but I threw him a dirty look, and he dispensed of both the ruse and the laughter.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your roll, buddy! Paul cocked his head at me. "You sound somewhat... disgusted by the prospect. Is it the sex act itself or who it would be with that disgusts you?" he observed calmly. I gave him a look, like it should be pretty damn clear that my sister and the word "sex" do not belong in the same sentence. Ever. Much less with me also included in said horrendous theoretical supremely inappropriate sentence. And, yes, my verbal skills fail me when I am under pressure and being asked incredibly invasive and awkward personal questions. Paul pursed his lips. "She not your type? In a relationship? Or are you concerned about the damage having sex with Lizzie would potentially cause to your relationship?" he pressed.

While I wanted to scream at him and perhaps punch him, I figured that, in light of the circumstances that had led me to this office, doing so would be an incredibly stupid idea, despite the initial rush of satisfaction. I stared him down unflinchingly, trying to project my annoyance rather than the latent defensiveness dying to come out and hit back at everything. I hate how he says that like I'm actually considering it. No, I am not in a relationship, and neither is Lizzie. Yes, disturbingly, she is my type, but the majority of women on the planet are also brunettes. And, let's see, brown hair, blue eyes, pretty, well, that just about describes _every_ woman in my family, only my mother has brown eyes. Not that type matters, given the last girl I slept with was a blonde, virtually all of my girlfriends have been blonde, and I lost my virginity to a redhead. And, duh, I am concerned that something like that would ruin my relationship with Lizzie because it would. But none of that has any bearing on why it disgusts me. "She's my **family. **That's why not. Our family doesn't need to be even _more _screwed up, thanks," I said shortly.

Paul raised a brow at that and suddenly looked _incredibly_ interested. I fought the urge to groan into my hand. I should not have said that. My family's dysfunction should be mentioned later, if ever, as a last resort, when I am trying to distract Paul from something I want to talk about even less. I cut in before he could ask a single question or make a comment about Casey and Derek, "She's my sister, and that means something." It means something to me, despite what everyone else says. That comment, of course, gave Paul an entirely new set of questions to ask, but said questions were all about me, so I could deal with that.

His brow furrowed in contemplation. "She is your stepsister, though, isn't she? Forgive me, Edwin, but even you must acknowledge that that's something entirely different," he pointed out, emphasizing the stepsister bit the way I remembered Derek and Casey always used to, the way Derek still did. I started to think I'd underestimated him. Who had trained him, Freud himself (disputing, of course, the fact that most of Freud's theories were later discredited or disproven)? "The real question here is... what does "sister" mean to you, Edwin?" he questioned mere moments later. The sudden change in approach threw me a little bit, suddenly semantic and pressing me for a definition.

I blinked dully, trying to wrap my mind around the question and come up with an answer. Well, I suppose first I have to start with why stepsisters and sisters are the same to me: I feel the same way about all of them, and we're family, regardless of blood... so why distinguish on something so small as that? I'm closer to Lizzie than any of my biological siblings, so how can I not call her my sister? We've grown up together, lived in the house together for the years that mattered. As far as I and, to a large extent, the rest of my family is concerned, there are no distinctions because we've been together that long. Hell, I see Nora and call her Mom more often than I speak to my own mother, who I haven't seen in so long that I'm not sure I'd recognize her in a crowd. DNA isn't everything, and yet, to some people, it is.

Now, the next question is: what is a sister? And what does "sister" mean to me? To define it properly, I'd say that a sister is someone you protect and look out for who annoys the hell out of you. A sister is someone who you fight, compete with, make fun of, insult, and bother at any chance you get. A sister is whiny, emotional, hormonal, and prone to violent and confusing mood-swings, and you're secretly afraid of her because she's not shy about kicking you in the balls. She knows exactly what buttons to press and exactly how to get under your skin faster than anyone else, and, sometimes, she inspires you to homicidal (sorocidal) rage because of it. A sister knows exactly how to push you, and that's what she does, push and push and push until something gives. A sister understands you better than you think because she's grown up with your ass for pretty much your whole life, and she gets it. She knows what you grew up with and every trick in your book, and she's not about to let you get away with anything. A sister is someone you love, deep, _deep_ down, so deep down that you rarely ever show it but you'll do almost anything to help her out if she needs it, and you know she'll do the same for you... because you really do care about and love each other, even if you're not close and can't stand each other more than half of the time. More than that, a sister is family, and that's _inviolable_. You don't screw your sister, and if you do, you're a sicko-rapist-pedophile-creep-asshole-scum-of-the-earth.

That's what sister means to me, Paul. Pity I can't say all that to him, and what will come out of my mouth will inevitably be lamer and somehow less true and complete. I sighed and jerked my head up to look him dead in the eyes, as Paul had cleared his throat, no doubt assuming I'd zoned out or that I'd refused to answer. "Seriously, Paul, if you went after Casey like this, I think she'd be disturbingly self-aware. You're really wasting all this... talent on me," I remarked a bit too sharply. Paul shrugged, smiling thinly, as if saying that Casey figured things out best on her own, and he was merely trying out a different tactic on me. Of course, what Casey figures out on her own is shaped by what she wants to discover and believe about herself and others, so if she doesn't receive ample prodding, when is she going to realize something she doesn't want to discover? Never, that's when. Denial is, after all, a willful defense mechanism intended to protect the subject from an unpleasant truth or reality, and it's so much easier to deny something that isn't concrete or obvious, like feelings, than to face them head on. There's Casey for you, all obedience, intentional ignorance, and fierce, determined obliviousness.

Paul opened his mouth as if to say something about myself or Casey or maybe even a thank-you or comment that I hadn't answered the aforementioned question, but I cut him off once again. "And, before you think I'm dodging your question deliberately, I'd like to ask you what the _hell_ kind of question that was? I mean, how am I supposed to answer that?" I interjected more calmly than I expected but still tensely. I rolled my eyes at him. "What does "sister" mean to you?" I repeated mockingly, scoffing at the question. Paul frowned, looking cautious and surprised at my outright combativeness. I exhaled shortly and focused my eyes back on him. "Someone you _don't_ screw around with, for starters, Paul," I said snappily. He raised an eyebrow. Then, a moment later, with a clearer head, "Look, what it means is that I have an obligation to protect, look out for, push, and help her. And it means that, deep down, I love her unconditionally, even when we fight."

He was smirking, the bastard, like a smug physicist who's just been proven right or made some kind of incredible scientific discovery. This man is a hell of a lot more devious than I remember from any past meeting. I just don't understand how he could treat me and my sister so radically differently, really, I don't. "You know, that sounds an awful lot like a marriage to me," he quipped, looking like he was on the verge of breaking out into yet another fit of snickers.

I grimaced and threw him a disgusted look. He is secretly a smart-ass, or it could be that he's just reflecting my personality back at me, but I like to think I'm a bit more tactful. The words I'd said could be applied to a successful marriage, perhaps, but I said nothing about a partnership or reciprocity or family-building/sexing (all of which are implicit in the word "marriage"), and my words could just as easily be applied to a parent-child relationship, except I didn't say provide and care for. Just for that, I began studiously ignoring him, staring at the wall just over to the side and above his head. He sighed. "Why'd you just shut down on me? It seemed like we were getting somewhere," Paul lamented.

Well, gee, Paul, maybe because you compared my relationship with my sister to a marriage? Not, for that matter, like I would know, as I have never been married, although, for the record, I do **not** want a marriage like my relationship with Lizzie because it would be incredibly trying and probably painful.

I refused to dignify that with a look at first because that's just what I do. Over the years, I've perfected just shutting down and stonewalling like a mason to keep people from getting too close. Call it a coping method, a privacy setting even, building up walls to keep the truth inside and the nosy people out. Then I sighed, gave in a little, and lowered my eyes to look at him. The veneer had worn thin, really, and I just wanted to get to the truth. "Okay, Paul, level with me here. You can let go of the ruse that someone didn't tell you _exactly_ what Brent said to me, and you can stop pretending that you haven't heard the rumors because I think the line of questioning makes it pretty obvious that you have," I stated bluntly. I moved on quickly because I didn't want to think about the rumors, let alone what Paul had heard, which was probably worse than anything I'd heard people say.

Paul's eyes widened a little, and he looked taken aback for a change. I guess he was surprised that I just put it out there like that. A moment or so later, though, he nodded, silently acknowledging the truth of my statement. "Now, are you going to stop beating around the bush or what? If there's something you want to ask me about Lizzie, you'd better ask me now when I just might answer you," I told him shortly. At the time I was saying it, I didn't realize I was giving him a free pass to ask me anything he wanted about Lizzie. All I wanted to do was to get everything out in the open, to call things as they are, because I'm so sick of people making little allusions and talking about this behind my back. Don't theorize or speculate; just ask me, and I'll tell you.

That being said, I straightened up and stared him down, wanting to see if he'd have the guts to ask me the one question he really wanted to get down to. At first, I thought he wasn't going to say anything, but then he surprised me by licking his lips, tilting his head a little. "Do you ever wish she was something more than your sister?" fell out of his mouth. Paul's expression was intent and curious, his stare unwavering.

Honestly, I think we were both a little surprised he asked that. No one had ever asked me that before. Everyone just assumed that I felt that way. I smiled faintly, not worrying about what Paul would think for a second. "She _is_ more than my sister. She's my family. She's my best friend, my confidante. She is my rock, my solid ground. She's my wingman, my protector, my helper. She's my partner," I volunteered enthusiastically. Of course, Paul flashed that knowing smile yet again, well aware that I hadn't quite answered the question.

Oddly, he didn't follow up on it like I thought he would. He gracefully and calmly redirected the topic. "You know, there are lots of things we can talk about besides Lizzie, Edwin. She isn't your only problem." He folded his hands over each other. His voice was soft, but his words hit me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me a little.

I frowned, vaguely offended and on the defensive yet again. "Did I ever say Lizzie was a problem?" I had never said that to Paul, but in a way, it was somewhat true. According to my friends, she is, and I know that she can be a problem. And that Lizzie is _my_ problem. I guess it just offended me to hear it from someone else's mouth.

Paul hurried to catch up and apologize. "No, but I know it... _she_... can be... difficult," he added hastily, trying to sympathize. He has no idea how difficult she can be, but she wouldn't be a girl (or my Lizzie, for that matter) if she was easy to understand. He paused awkwardly for a moment, thinking me angrier than I really was. "Now, Edwin, I don't want you to feel that you can't talk to me about her if you need to. Lizzie's an important part of your life, and there are a lot of... feelings... there that need to have some kind of an outlet. You bottle up your feelings until it gets to be too much, and you explode like a shaken-up soda. And that's why you punched Brent," Paul continued cautiously, as if watching for some kind of warning sign.

I sighed, shaking my head, and pinched the bridge of my nose. Paul had it entirely wrong. Well, not entirely wrong, I ought to say. I do bottle up my emotions and then explode, but, really, I'm just fine with that. Not all feelings need to be expressed, after all, and, really, it's better that some don't, actually... However, as to why I punched Brent, my frustration has very little to do with it. The fact that I hate him and he was saying obscene and offensive things about a particularly thorny personal problem of mine has far more bearing on the situation. I let my hand fall into my lap, faintly irritated. "Did Brent also tell you that he called her a whore? 'Cause I would've punched him for that alone. I'm not gonna stand there and let some little _asshole_ say things like that about my family, especially when they're not true," I replied a bit more furiously than I intended. I like to play things close to the vest, and I hate showing my cards. It's like I learned playing poker with Derek, the minute you show the other side your cards, you're at someone else's mercy, and you've lost all your power.

I've learned a lot of things from Derek (and just as much from his many mistakes, no doubt). He's the master at playing games, don't you know. Taught me a lot of what I know about strategy and game theory; textbooks did the rest. Of course, as Derek's always maintained, experience is the best teacher.

Paul frowned, but he didn't really have anything to say to that. Realistically, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. I'm supposed to act all regretful and apologetic about the incident, but I'd do it again. Paul tried and failed to smile and changed the subject once again. He began apologetically, "Look, Edwin, I know I might've come down hard on you, maybe a bit too strong, and that you weren't ready for that-"

There was a sincerely regretful look in his eyes, as if he sensed he'd pushed me a little too far. "Not the words I would've used, Paul. Try more like asking me incredibly invasive personal questions. About an already touchy subject. The only saving grace was that you were asking questions rather than crudely whispering about it behind my back like everyone else," I interrupted a bit rudely. It could've been worse, though. I could've compared it to the full-body cavity search it was. Nonetheless, it might surprise him to know that I'm not very mad at him. After all, at least Paul asked. That's more than I can say for most people. And I do admire what Paul was trying to do, get these things out in the open.

He gave me a hesitant smile and then started talking quickly once again, trying to smooth everything over. I successfully managed to keep the amused smile off my face. "-Anyway, what I was trying to say is that I'm sorry. I was excited to talk to you, and I might've taken it a little too far..." Paul professed eagerly. I allowed myself a small smile at his expense, and Paul returned it in a flash.

I wrinkled my nose a little. To be honest, I wasn't used to receiving an apology for someone assuming the worst about me and Lizzie, let alone one that was sincere and unqualified with any other little excuse. It was so rare that I actually appreciated it. Nonetheless, I was unable to let him just get off with doing that. I raised a brow and smirked a little. "Why, Paul, trying to correct previous mistakes? Thinking about where Casey would be with a... bit more guidance?" I insinuated knowingly. "Wishing you ever had a substantial conversation with my brother?"

Paul bowed his head, silently admitting I had him there. There was a far-off look in his eyes, and for a moment, he opened his mouth, and I thought he was going to talk about it. Of course, I should've known that was too good to be true. No one ever talks about it or calls whatever it is by its right name, but we all know it's there. For whatever reason, no one ever really talks about Casey in serious detail. We just all allude to her and make some hint that she's made mistakes or somehow... left things unfinished. I suppose it's because we all realize that she has some personal reason for never coming home. Then he gave me a dour look and stated, "Remind me to discuss your authority issues at a later session, Edwin." My response to that was a sarcastic salute.

There was no way in hell I was reminding him to discuss my problems with authority. Although I will say that my problems with authority probably stem from always having someone else's authority imposed on me, such as Derek's, my father's, Nora's, my mother's, the various other wills of my siblings, teachers', and so on and so forth. This is why I chafe under the yoke of "respect" and authority, and it doesn't exactly take Carl Jung to figure that out.

Paul cleared his throat, once again the serious psychologist. "As I was saying, I was just trying to push you a little bit, give you a jump start," he said. Apparently I was wrong about that serious psychologist bit. At my skeptical look, Paul continued hurriedly, "I've changed too, you know, Edwin. A good psychologist knows that you have to use different techniques with different people. You favor honesty, facts, and a direct approach, so I knew you could handle it."

So many thoughts went through my head in that particular moment. One, that, oh, right, Paul _did_ have a PhD, even if it was in Psychology. He sounded, simply put, like he knew what he was talking about. Another, that Paul actually had a fairly good idea of who I was as a person, which surprised me given our fairly limited interaction. And, thirdly, Paul not only knew I could handle it, but he knew that approaching me that way made me more likely to interact and believe him. Honesty, facts, and logic: those are the tools to impress or persuade me. By taking such an approach, he had not only shown me that he was serious, but he'd attempted to earn my respect. It was staggering, really, to imagine all of that, let alone that Paul actually knew what he was doing. I stared at Paul dumbly for a long while before regaining my ability to speak. "You know, Paul, they really do _not_ give you enough credit for the work you do here," I remarked, still somewhat awed, holding my hand out over the desk for him to shake.

He gave me a fond, if not indulgent, smile, and reached out to shake my hand. "Thank you, Edwin." I released his hand and started to rise to my feet. The session had come to its natural conclusion, and it was about time for me to pick Lizzie up from Chemistry. Paul waved. "I will see you first thing after the break in... two weeks... give or take..." he began, sounding very businesslike. I nodded, and he kept talking, turning a back into the uncertain, slightly awkward Paul me and the rest of my family were used to. "I, um, hope you'll keep thinking about the things we talked about..." Cue a strained, awkward look on my face at that. "Feel free to call me if you want advice or need to discuss something with me. Casey has my number, but here's my card... and, um, if you can't talk about it over the phone, we could always schedule a personal session," he offered, clumsily pulling out a business card and handing it to me.

I nodded and put the card in my pocket, and an awkward silence ensued. Paul cleared his throat and looked away, starting to straighten papers on his desk. "Anyway, happy holidays, Edwin, best wishes for the new year, and I hope everything goes well with your family celebration," he said brightly and sincerely, flashing me a smile. I gathered my stuff and smiled back cautiously.

Then I threw him a look, and, had Paul been standing next to me, I probably would've elbowed him. "C'mon, Paul, I think we both know it will be some kind of utter disaster," I joked. Paul's smile widened knowingly, and he nodded. I snorted, but, a moment later, a bit quieter, I found myself telling him seriously, "You know, it's the first Christmas both Derek and Casey have been home in what, four years?" Paul's eyes widened as I exhaled nervously. I remembered then that she probably hadn't mentioned that to Paul and thought I shouldn't have told him. Then I tried to remember what Lizzie and Nora had imparted to the rest of us from what they'd gleaned from long phone calls to Casey, so I could tell him more. "And she's bringing Noel too and planning some massive kind of family reunion... Well, that should be a hot mess. We might need you on call," I continued in a tone that wasn't quite as nonchalant and jesting as I'd intended. Paul cracked a smile nonetheless.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the foreboding thoughts. Just thinking about the break left me on edge, with a cold, unpleasant feeling in my stomach. I'm already worried about all the emotions and insanity it will drudge up. For my own good, though, I need to stop thinking about it and just smile politely and say goodbye to Paul. "Um, you too, Paul. I'll, um, think about it, and I'll tell the family you say hi. Happy holidays," I said, heading for the door and waving goodbye. Paul waved back, and I shot out of that room like a rocket, trying really hard not to think about anything that had just transpired.

Naturally, I returned to Mr. Hennessey's classroom and peered in the window, noticing that the vast majority of the class was still in there, excluding myself and Sandy Chang. Shelbert was kind of freaking out, mildly annoying Mr. H. I looked around the classroom, hoping to catch Lizzie's eye. She was biting her lip, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. And clearly I hadn't forgotten my chat with Paul, because my first thought was that Lizzie bent over a test like that was kind of hot. I shook my head to get rid of the thought. Given that the final was supposed to be over in less than five minutes, according to my watch. I decided to wait it out and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall and contemplating my date with Sylvia.

All I knew so far was that I was going to take her out to dinner. The first place that came to mind was Smelly Nelly's, but a name like that, despite the charming café atmosphere (and the slightly more alarming fact that my brother is a part-time manager there), I don't really feel it's an appropriate venue for a date. I also needed some sort of activity for us to do... and I was fresh out of ideas. It's been so long since I've dated, that I guess I've kind of forgotten these things. I wondered if asking Lizzie for help would be a bad idea. Probably.

Just at that moment, Lizzie came out of the classroom. Well, I ought to say that she was one in a stream of many worried, slightly disgruntled yet also giddy students who poured out of that door like a horde of ants, but Lizzie happens to be the only one of them who matters to me. Anyway, Lizzie came out of the classroom, looked around (ostensibly for me), and, naturally, tripped over my legs and came crashing down. She threw her hands up against the wall to stop her fall, so there she was, maybe eight centimeters away from my face, half-squatting and half-sprawled across me, breathless and startled. Then she smiled awkwardly, pulled her head back, and started to right herself, pushing against the wall. She smiled down at me fondly and said, still breathless, "Hey."

I smiled back. "Hey." Then I handed her her books and started to rise slowly. I jerked my head towards the classroom door. "How'd it go in there?" I asked. Lizzie's nose crinkled up as she made a face, looking more than a little worried. She shrugged, helping to pull me up, and began to walk down the hallway.

"Eh... All right, I guess?" she offered over her shoulder, offering me an apologetic shrug, "I don't really know." Ordinarily, I would've asked her some questions about the test, about what she thought about this problem or that question, but I refrained this time because it wouldn't really help either of us. I was following Lizzie, quiet and happy to be out of school for the rest of the year, when she suddenly whirled around. I wasn't paying attention at that moment, so I ran into her. She rolled her eyes at me but surprised me by grabbing my shoulders a few seconds later. "I don't know how I did, Ed, but I know that I understood a lot more than I thought I did... and I owe that to you. You didn't have to stay up and help me study last night, but you did, and that means _so_ much to me, Ed," she said gratefully.

Before I could say a single word in response to that, Lizzie pulled me to her in an impromptu hug. I barely had my arms around her before she turned back to me and continued, in the same incredibly thankful tone, "If there's any way I can repay the favor, all you have to do is ask." I opened my mouth to, indeed, do that very thing, but Lizzie interrupted. "How 'bout we hang out tonight? You get to pick the movie. It's been _ages_ since we had a movie night just us two!" she suggested enthusiastically. Her eyes were bright, and her face flush with excitement, and she was right... it had been a long time since we'd had a movie night.

She's been preoccupied with Derek, and I've been busy working on various projects and trying to maintain my sanity. We've both been busy with our friends and activities too, you know. We do, after all, have lives outside of each other, as hard as that is to believe. Then there's all those crises with our sisters that Lizzie has to talk out and fix. Don't get me wrong, we have family movie nights, but they're not the same. Watching a family-approved, sanitized Disney or Pixar movie with Sebastian and the 'rents really isn't my idea of a good time. Liz and I haven't had much time alone recently, and well, with all the family about to come home, we're not gonna have a single moment to ourselves at Christmas. And the last time we had a movie night was this summer, which is really just unacceptable.

That being said, of course, I have a date with Sylvia tonight, so it looks somewhat implausible at the moment, unless we watch movies before or after my date, but I feel that I ought to commit all of my time to either Sylvia or Lizzie, rather than split it between the two and do them both a disservice. And, no, I am not juggling women, just balancing the priorities in my life and spending time with my friends. I gave Lizzie a nervous smile, shifting away from her, pausing uncomfortably for a moment before I started to tell her, extremely apologetically, of course, "Um, Lizzie, I really think that's a great idea, but I have my date with Sylvia tonight, remember? I'm, uh, picking her up at seven?"

Her face fell, and she deflated, moving even further away from me. "Oh, right," she said quietly. She smiled sheepishly, looking a little sad even. "I guess I forgot." She dragged her fingers through her hair, an unpleasant look flitting over her face. "I'm sorry, Ed," she said, forcing a smile and lightly punching my shoulder. She shrugged, looked down, and started walking again. "Forget I asked," she muttered dismissively, sounding almost defeated. I frowned, staring after her for a moment. I knew she didn't really like the idea of me dating her friend, but I didn't think she would be sad or anything, and now I felt bad about not spending time with her.

Which is ridiculous because I see her every day, and we live in the same house, and we spend the majority of our waking moments together. It's really a wonder that we didn't get sick of each other years ago. And it's not like I'm just laying this on Lizzie now, either; she's known about this date since the sleepover, which was days ago. I'm sure she didn't forget I was going out with Sylvia... she just forgot it was tonight, but suddenly she's acting like something has changed, even though nothing's really happened. Yes, I can't hang out with Lizzie tonight because I've got a date, but we can do that any time, and it's not like I don't want to hang out with her, or that I'm avoiding her or anything and... wow, I am getting way too worked up over this. Long story short, I have nothing to feel guilty about here, and I should step it up and follow her before she ditches me here.

So I raced to catch up to her, and then I was suddenly babbling, actually apologizing to her. "It's not that I don't want to hang out with you, Lizzie. I mean, obviously I do. We could watch movies, you know, before or after my date with Sylvia. Or tomorrow. We don't have school tomorrow either. I mean, whenever, you know?" I rambled. "I'm kind of at your disposal here," I continued, laughing anxiously. The words came out in a massive, awkward jumble. Lizzie slowed and smiled at me, taking pity on me, I guess. Then she said something like that that would be fine and joked that she'd have to help me pick out something to wear for the date because that was the first thing Sylvia would notice, and she liked her guys put-together. While saying that, Lizzie grabbed my hand and started running and dragging me along with her, no doubt in a hurry to get home.

I couldn't fault her for that. We hurried to the car; it was cold and snowing outside, so that was even more of an incentive to get out of there before the weather got worse. Liz opted for driving home, going significantly faster than she should have. It wasn't exactly safe, but it got us home ten minutes earlier than we would've arrived otherwise. As soon as we pulled into the garage, we got out of the car and raced to get into the heat. After that, we headed up the stairs together but went our separate ways in the hallway. I cranked the thermostat up a notch or two to make our home fit for human beings, as both of our parents were working, and C was with Derek for the day.

Then, I threw my things on the couch, flung off my coat, shoes, and sweatshirt, and promptly collapsed onto my bed. I groped around for my alarm clock and set it to four-thirty and then wormed my way under the covers. I stretched out over the surface of my bed and buried my face in the pillow, starting to relax bit by bit. Just as I was starting to feel the sleep coming on, of course, someone shoved me. I grunted but otherwise ignored it. I was shoved again, and a familiar voice commanded, "Move over, Ed."

I recognized Lizzie's voice instantaneously, but I was unwilling to listen to her order. I registered dimly that it was Lizzie and that she wanted me to move over, but my body did not want to move. "Why?" I muttered sleepily, voice muffled by the pillow, "'S not storming." I did not open my eyes.

A picture of Lizzie making a face flitted into my head. She shoved me again, a little less hard this time, and more or less fell on top of me. "'Cause I wanna take a nap too!" she proclaimed petulantly, probably pouting. I refused to dignify that with any sort of coherent response other than some tortured noise, but Lizzie shifted on my back, trying to roll me over. I tried (and failed) not to think about her thighs lightly squeezing my lower back.

Unfortunately, I was no longer quite so close to sleep as I wanted to be. Nonetheless, I perpetuated the ruse by screwing my eyes closed. "But you have your own bed. Downstairs," I mumbled a bit more pointedly, getting vaguely irritated by this point. Why was she up here, bothering me, if she wanted to sleep? I wiggled a little, trying to unseat her, swatting behind me, just barely managing to brush her. She managed to situate herself even more firmly on my back, tightening her thighs around my waist, pressing her hands down on my shoulder blades, and leaning her weight forward. I had a sudden, very vivid flash of a similar situation when I was twelve and Lizzie had me aggressively pinned to the floor of the hallway.

At the time I'd been teasing her over Jamie, and I was sorry for doing it because it hurt, what she was doing. But, at the same time, I did like to see her all riled up, and I dunno... after that, I started feeling different. And at first I thought it was because I was nervous about our birthday party and kissing girls, or that it was puberty-related, but the more I thought about it, the more the moment had seared itself into my mind. After thinking about it far too much, I realized I was sort of glad I'd teased Lizzie about it because I'd _enjoyed_ it, and that's when it kind of hit me like an apple on the head that I had a crush on Lizzie.

That memory, as it had that day, caused some (now) all-too familiar stirrings. I bit my lip as Lizzie leaned her weight onto me, stretching languidly like a housecat, unpleasantly kneading my shoulders. "But yours is more comfortable!" she exclaimed, smacking my back. I winced, and Lizzie leaned a little further forward until she was virtually flat against me, head resting on my back. I could feel her hair and eyelashes flicking my neck, and it made every hair of my body stand on end. Of course, that could've also been related to just how _hard_ I was trying to avoid thinking of how incredibly flexible she was and how completely she was pressing against me and just how widely she was straddling me. "And... I just wanna take a nap. If I go to my bed, my body will think it's in sleep mode and get confused. And then I'll be sleeping for real," she murmured drowsily, rubbing her cheek against my shirt in circular motions.

I swallowed hard, awake and aware that she could feel every movement, every ripple of flesh and muscle. Her hands softened against my shoulders, and I was aware that she was getting too comfortable for my liking, fully prepared to perch there on my back forever. So I sighed and gave in, as always, sliding over to the right side of the bed. I dislodged Lizzie by rolling back a little and shaking her off before flopping back down on the bed. "Fine. But no spooning," I grumbled, pulling the covers more fully around myself. Though I was sleeping on my stomach, I made sure to face my head away from her. Letting her cuddle up to me was an incredibly bad idea that would, no doubt, result in me getting very little sleep at all.

Lizzie made a low sound halfway between a groan and moan and breathed, "Thank God for that... I was afraid I was going to pull a thigh muscle." I fought the urge to groan and heard the sound of fabric rustling and determined she was rubbing her thighs, which ratcheted up my discomfort even more. I inhaled sharply and prayed she didn't notice or see the redness of my cheeks. She lay there for a moment, doing that, hands on her thighs, before she slipped under the covers and rolled onto her stomach. A second later, she scooted towards me, pulling at my leaden arm, trying to get it around her shoulders. "Come on, Ed, that's the best part! You know I'm a snuggly person," she protested, tugging at me, trying to get closer to my warmth.

I squirmed away from the hand at my waist and refused to move my arm around her. I frowned, knowing all too well that she was right about that. Truthfully, Lizzie could be clingy as hell when she wanted to be, and I'd felt like a vine she was climbing on earlier. Liz tried to slither close to me, pressing up against my back. I moved away from her, clutching the blankets. "You're also a heat generator, and it drives me more than a little crazy!" I countered a bit louder than I should have, thoughts swirling around the unpleasant and horridly familiar sensation of the two of us tangled up like Siamese twins (and, yes, I know that this term is both medically inaccurate and vaguely offensive, but conjoined just does not quite sound as sexy as Siamese, or Thai, for that matter).

Liz snorted. "Oh, please! That's just because you get the wrong ideas about having a girl sprawled all over you, perv," she retorted, lightly swatting my back. I bristled a little because she was entirely right. Though, to be fair, it isn't exactly that hard to get the wrong idea when a girl is sprawled all over you in your bed, so who could blame me for being confused and uncomfortable about something like that. I just grunted and buried my face in the pillow, unwilling to argue with her anymore. All I wanted to do was sleep; everything else could come later.

Soon after that, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, my alarm clock was ringing, and I raised my head up blearily, glancing around my room. I frowned; my alarm clock was on the other side of my bed. I tried to reach for it, but my arm didn't stretch far enough. However, just as I rolled more or less on top of Lizzie, the alarm stopped. She'd turned it off and sleepily turned over to face me, blinking rapidly. She mumbled something unintelligible, probably along the lines of why did I set the alarm, but I didn't answer her. I was still a bit dazed myself, but I craned my neck up a little to look at the clock. Seeing the time reminded me of my date dilemma. "Lizzie, I need help," I mumbled immediately.

She cocked her head to the side and frowned a little. Then she leaned back on her forearms and shifted upwards into more of a sitting position. "Whaddaya need help with?" she muttered, yawning loudly. She grunted and started to wipe the rheum from her eyes, leaning against the headboard and stretching.

I sighed, also pushing myself into a sitting position. "Sylvia..." Liz threw me a look. I ran a hand through my hair anxiously. "I... I don't know where to take her or what to do for our date. I don't know what she likes. You're her best friend... Help me out here!" I exclaimed, giving her a pleading look so she'd be more inclined to help me.

Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, turning to look at me properly. I could tell she'd decided to help me. She was frowning a little, but she seemed to give the matter a significant amount of consideration. "Well..." She hesitated. "Why don't you just take her to Smelly Nelly's?" she posed casually.

I turned to look at her, rolling my eyes. As if I hadn't already thought of that? "Yes, Liz, I really want to take the girl of my dreams out to a restaurant called Smelly Nelly's, much less a restaurant that my brother works at!" I said sarcastically, perhaps a bit too bitingly. Lizzie jerked back a little but otherwise rolled her eyes.

"But Derek won't be there, Ed. He's got early morning practice and then conditioning afterwards, and then he cleans up and picks up Sebastian for the day. Then Derek takes a nap and heads to work at the bar," Lizzie detailed patiently. For a moment, I almost considered it a good thing she was so obsessed with him that she knew his schedule for winter break. Ordinarily Derek has early morning or afternoon practice, sometimes twice a day, then class, and then he goes to work. He goes to the gym at least once a week and every day he doesn't have practice. He usually works at Smelly Nelly's three times a week, usually afternoons, and he works at the bar two nights a week, taking the early shift except on Saturday nights. I sighed and ceded to her logic.

She shot me a mildly triumphant look, but I was not as amused. Lizzie shrugged, nonplussed. "Look, Sylvia doesn't really need anything fancy. Really, the girl hasn't been out on a date in so long that she'll just be happy with dinner and a decent conversation. Besides, there are very few places in town that are open at seven o'clock, much less in this weather... so the most you can do is probably dinner and a movie," she told me succinctly. I was rather surprised that she was so blunt with me, but Lizzie was right about the other things. Very few attractions in town that were not stores or restaurants were open at seven, and the horrible weather further limited my options.

I shrugged back and looked down. "I just wanna do something nice for her, that's all," I said a bit defensively. Liz raised an eyebrow and rightfully so, as it sounded like I was talking about charity work rather than a date. I winced. She didn't need to tell me to not say things like that on the date. She did, however, fix me with a rather severe look that practically screamed no messing around.

She turned onto her side and gave me a pitying look, and then her hand was on my face. I almost jumped at the sudden contact, at how soft her hand was on my skin. She tilted her head to look me right in the eyes, a little too close to my face. "That's not what matters, Edwin," she said quietly, smiling a little. She took my hand, and her smile widened. "The date... dinner... that doesn't matter. Just be yourself... Sylvia will like you regardless," she told me brightly. Then she edged still closer still, and her hand slid down my cheek to rest on my jaw. "What really matters is how you kiss her," she murmured with a lazy grin, leaning in a little more so our lips were practically touching.

For approximately one second, I considered whether or not Lizzie was acting like this because she was still sleepy and only partly-awake. "Here, I'll help you practice," she declared, practically launching herself at me, an arm coming to rest on my shoulder. She was very much awake and in possession of her senses, I decided. Furthermore, although her behavior was puzzling, it did seem as if she genuinely did want to assist me and that her somewhat deluded mind thought that this was the best way of doing so. Then, of course, there was the third option that she had other reasons for acting this way and I was either under-counting them, discounting them entirely, or incorrectly interpreting her behavior.

This is why I hate soft sciences. You're left relying on contextual clues and other little things I don't particularly like to pay attention to, and it's all so terribly subjective that you cannot even say any of your observations are facts! My first response was those self-preservational instincts kicking in; I shook my head no hard. I have to keep my sanity, and touching Lizzie in any way that isn't friendly or brotherly fries my neurons and manages to disrupt every single system in my body, particularly my central nervous and digestive systems. My lips couldn't form the words, but I had to say no because I couldn't take it.

Lizzie's face fell, though, then, and I so hated to disappoint her. I sighed, backing away a little and hoping (praying to the forces holding the universe together), and said somewhat reluctantly, "Lizzie, I don't know about this..." I could practically taste the hesitance in my voice, could feel myself moving back and away from her, only Liz was anything but hesitant. She doesn't have as much to lose as I do. As much as I try not to realize it, when it comes to me and Lizzie, we _are_ fundamentally wired differently. Our circuits are in entirely different places and carry very different sorts of charges, and like individual circuits, we each have a different limit of just how much current we can bear before shorting out or catching on fire. I tried to back away a little more, tried to remind myself why touching Lizzie unnecessarily was a very, _very_ bad idea...

But she'd always been stronger than me, even in terms of her logic sometimes. Lizzie shrugged, smirking a little, and she moved further forward so that she was more or less in my lap. Her head was fortunately far enough away from my face to allow me to think clearly without the nuclear warning alarms going off in my head. "What's there to know, Edwin?" she drawled, sounding somewhat amused as she laced her fingers together behind my neck. She looked down at me, and her eyes turned suddenly serious. "It isn't like this is our first time or anything," she pointed out a bit dismissively, eyes boring into me. I froze entirely and swallowed hard, not knowing what to do but mercifully unable to do a thing.

The ghost of a smile passed over her lips, and she leaned in closer, rubbing up against me just enough. Her hands clutched my shoulders, and then her hair was brushing my neck, and I felt her breath on my face. "Just kiss me like you would kiss Sylvia," she requested brusquely, pulling me up by the collar. Her voice was huskier than usual, though, which was the only give away. She moved back a little and released my shirt reluctantly, smiling at me somewhat coyly, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. "And then I'll tell you what I think," she proclaimed cheerily, fixing my collar and winking at me.

I stared at her in sheer disbelief for a good two minutes, entirely dumbfounded by this. When I regained my ability to speak (I'd been having such trouble with that lately that I was going to have to see a neuroscientist or speech pathologist!), I just about swallowed my tongue. Dumbly and thickly, I said, "But I don't think of you and Sylvia the same. She isn't my sister, Lizzie." I sounded as naïve as a child as I said it, too, like I was slow. Lizzie made a face at the statement. "I'm romantically interested in her," I repeated somewhat numbly.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head at me, saying without speaking that that much was obvious. She laced her fingers with mine and shifted forward in my lap, arching her back just the littlest bit. Liz pulled her arms out and thrust forward just ever so slightly more to push me up against the bed. And then, like before, when she'd said it wasn't the first time doing this, she bent down to look me directly in the eye. "Just shut up and do it, okay? You want to know how you are, right?" she interjected, bossily as usual.

I sighed, giving her a vaguely exasperated look. "Liz, I've kissed Sylvia before. I don't see why I need to do this. I'm pretty sure she liked it," I said shortly, perhaps too abruptly, relying heavily on logic. I know I probably came off a bit more nervous than I intended, but I was starting to sweat it out.

Lizzie was immediately suspicious. She cocked her head and regarded me curiously, and a bit of a wounded, vaguely insulted look bloomed on her face. "Why do you not want to kiss me?" she pondered. I strove to avoid wincing at the directness of her question. And I didn't say a word because, well, I can't really use the sister line on Lizzie because she has an entirely different conceptualization of the relationship. In her mind, what she's asking of me is perfectly acceptable and somehow perfectly normal, whereas I find it an alarming and slightly aberrant behavior. When I didn't answer, her frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Do you have some kind of problem with me or something?"

I closed my eyes and briefly fought the urge to grimace and scream at the same time. It was harder than I thought to compartmentalize the flash of guilt, because I could hear the accusation, the unworthiness in her tone, and I instantly hated myself for making her feel even a shade of that. I swallowed and quickly tried to think of a non-offensive yet still assertive and perfectly appropriate way to phrase it. "Maybe 'cause I think it'd be weird to kiss you, Sylvia's _best_ friend, right before I go out with her?" Damn, I was _not_ able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice there. The indelicacy of my words made me wince. "It'd be a kind of skeevy thing to do, don't you think?" I continued, trying and failing to smile and sound at least faintly amused, like the situation wasn't quite as serious as I actually believed it was.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and frowned at me a little, scoffing at my comment. Every awkward moment heightened my anxiety, so, not knowing what else to do, I swooped in before she could speak and blurted, "Why do you want me to kiss you so bad?" I was slipping, forced back on the (supremely) defensive, desperately trying to stay a step ahead of her. In short, I was right where I had not wanted to be. Paul (and, at some other time, perhaps, Lizzie herself) wouldn't have let me get away with so blatantly dodging a question, but Lizzie did not have that kind of foresight at the moment. The genuine incredulity and curiosity in my voice had either mildly amused and/or stunned Lizzie, as it took her a long moment to reply.

"I don't!" she burst out immediately, sounding just as guilty as I had asking her that very question. I threw her a disbelieving look, and she started a little, licking her lips nervously. "It's just..." she began, drawing out the words a little, though whether or not that was from nerves or inability to find words I could not quite determine. She looked up, hunching over a little, and then exhaled sharply, looking vexed. "Well, you want to get it right, don't you?" she barked a bit too aggressively.

She's a bit too accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed (she teaches junior tae kwon do classes in her free time—and, really, I know by this point you're wondering how Lizzie has enough time to spend all this time with me. So do I, but the living in the same house bit tends to help). I nodded dully, looking at her warily because I was unsure what she was going to do next. Lizzie is a fearsome creature when she's angry, and she is, shall we say, proficient in four different types of martial arts. _Four _ass-kickingly terrifying martial arts. Her body is a lethal weapon that I do not ever want used against me.

Her hands might feel soft now, but they are hard as diamonds. She looked at me plainly, shifting onto her knees and holding out her arms. "In case you haven't noticed, Edwin, I've got all the girly parts, so I am a chick... And trust me when I say I know what a girl's looking for in a kiss. You should just be glad you've got someone like me around to help you," she insisted a bit more crassly than she would have usually, gesturing to her body. The look she gave me then was the equivalent of an x-ray, minus the cancer-inducing radiation, because she saw right through me. That naked look in her eyes was a painful reminder that I knew firsthand (quite literally, in this case) that Lizzie was a girl. Lizzie made it seem like it was no big deal and that she was condescending to do me a favor, which stung a little since she seemed to be forcing this course of action on me.

I felt like it was an argument I couldn't possibly win and that she would just wear me down in the end, which, honestly, I wasn't quite positive I could endure. Nonetheless, I had an obligation to myself to at least try and resist with all my might. So I sent that same look right back at Lizzie, reminding her that, in terms of women, I apparently seem to know what I'm doing. As Lizzie, of all people, can attest. "Yeah, and you _know_ I'm a good kisser, so I don't really see why we need to do this," I retorted quickly, somewhat irked that she was pushing this so much. I know Lizzie must think that I'm rejecting her or something, and maybe she's hurt or annoyed too, but it really has very little to do with her kissing ability or my feelings for her. It has more to do with my feelings for myself and the fact that she's my sister, and it's just a bad life decision waiting to happen because kissing someone... that's a slippery slope.

She'd actually gotten sick of rolling her eyes at me, so she was just glaring at me in disbelief, looking fairly offended as well as annoyed. She put her hands behind her head and tapped her nails against the headboard ceaselessly, backing up to lean against it once more. She gave me a bored look and just about yawned in my face. "Because, as Sylvia's best friend, I also happen to know what Sylvia wants out of a kiss and a man. Face it, Ed. You need me, and I'm just tryin' to help you out here," she stated, sounding rather bored. She shrugged, stretching upwards a little, and casually tossing a hand in the air. It still sounded as if she thought she was doing me a favor, but at that point, I was willing to concede to her superior knowledge.

Her hand came down to rest on my shoulder, and I pretended like I didn't notice. Of course, Lizzie meant business, so the hand on my shoulder became a vice-grip and turned me to face her with a sharp push. "Okay, let's do this!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands together and hinging forward at the waist, a little too eager. It would be a small miracle if the vague sense of horror I was feeling did not manifest itself on my face, especially as I do not believe in supernatural phenomena. I gave her a skeptical look, but Lizzie pointedly ignored it and motioned for me to continue. After an awkward moment, it became clear that she expected me to kiss her, which is not my normal modus operandi in situations involving Lizzie. I guess I was a little unnerved because it was also very much a planned kiss, and the majority of situations where Lizzie and I have kissed, in fact, very nearly all of them, have _not_ been planned.

Honestly, it reminded me alarmingly of the very first time Lizzie and I ever kissed, only I was the really nervous one. Worse still, I knew it was ridiculous to feel nervous because I'd only kissed Lizzie like, what, close to five hundred times, and I kind of made out with her just a few days ago because of that dare. I know what I'm getting into, and I know what to expect here... but I guess the problem is that I don't know why. I was snapped out of my reverie by Lizzie sighing impatiently, looking at me like, "well, are you gonna do it or not?" So I sighed too, drawing up all the courage I could muster and forcing all the thoughts out of my mind, and I grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her into my lap.

She let out a squeal of surprise and threw her arms out for balance. Her arms landed on my shoulders, and there she was, practically in my face, still looking a bit settled and off-balance. Her hair was loose and kept falling in our faces, forcing her to keep frantically trying to tuck her hair behind her ears or throw it over her shoulders. I fought the urge to laugh at her and couldn't help but notice that she was so close and had been wearing a rather low-cut top all day apparently. Her breasts were at eye-level, only centimeters from my face, and her shirt stretched tight across her chest as it moved this way and that way as she attempted to fix her hair. She smiled slowly, exhaling shakily through her teeth and finally glancing at me, and I could feel her breath on my face. I felt like she was trying to brace herself for something, but the mere thought seemed ridiculous.

The thing about kissing Lizzie (and, yes, I realize that there are few men who can think when they have a girl in their lap, waiting to be kissed, and no, I am **not** stupid) is that you have to kind of take her by surprise to do it properly. That's why I was waiting, that and to see what she would do. For a long moment, we just sort of stared at each other in a breathless silence... and, I mean, it was a weird moment, for whatever reason, maybe because it felt like we were both in some kind of limbo, waiting for something that wasn't necessarily gonna come.

And then, just when she wasn't expecting it and was beginning to look a little put-out, I slid my hands up the outsides of her thighs to come to rest on her ass. Without warning, I pressed on her lower back, bringing her forward and further into my lap, forcing her thighs further apart, and pushing her against me. Her grip tightened on my shoulders, and she glowered at me for approximately one second before one of my hands snaked up and around the back of her neck. I straightened up and strained forward a little while simultaneously jerking her head towards mine. And then I kissed her, tilting my head to the side and pulling her a little closer.

My lips lingered on hers for a moment before I moved to the corner of her lips and started to suck and lick lightly. I felt the reassuring thrum of her pulse under my thumb, felt it spike and quicken under my touch, and that feeling anchored me. She moaned when I did that and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me closer. Then she made this little noise in the back of her throat like she wanted more contact somehow. My lips traced a path over and across hers, probing, tasting, touching, and absorbing, paying special attention to every single part of her lip, every single cell, and, where I felt like it, the skin around her lips. She tasted like sleep, hunger, sweetness, and faded cherry Chapstick. By the time I'd reached the other side of her mouth and my lips separated from hers with a soft, final-sounding pop, Lizzie was more or less quivering, tense and so very alive in my arms.

I pulled back a few centimeters to look at her, and her eyes were still closed, a blissed-out, pleased expression on her face. Her puckered lips and the rapturous, open look on her face seemed to indicate that she expected the kiss to go on or that it wasn't really over for her. Her lips and the skin surrounding them were fairly pink and very noticeably swollen, and it looked like she had just been thoroughly kissed. Naturally, I felt this ridiculous masculine sense of pride knowing that I'd made her look like that, seeing the effects of my attention on her body, and I relished that feeling and the look of her for a good moment until she opened her eyes.

Her eyes were dark and clouded with lust, which didn't seem to fade as quickly as I thought it would. That look made my breath feel thick and heavy. She ran her eyes over me in a way that made me feel naked and exposed, and her hands dropped to my neck. She was still jittery, fingers trembling, and for a moment she just kind of sat there, back as straight as a ruler, hovering in space slightly, not doing anything. She didn't say a word, just stared at me bewitchingly before her gaze fell to my lips. Then her hands laced together behind my neck and she used that momentum to gain leverage, thrusting herself forward in my lap and crashing her lips against mine hard.

Her legs tightened around mine, and I became aware that she'd just brought our bodies into mostly full contact with each other. Her body's jerky motions continually brought her pelvis up and down to brush against mine every few moments. One of her hands fisted in my hair, pulling me closer a little painfully. Her back arched as she dragged me back with her, forcing me to hinge forward to follow her. The kiss was hot and a little wet, lips smacking against mine hungrily, teeth catching my bottom lip and biting ever so slightly. I groaned, half in pain and half in arousal, grabbing her ass and pushing her against me instinctively in a way that made both of our lips go slack during one delicious instant of contact. Then I leaned back more comfortably against the headboard, deepening the kiss and taking her with me, bringing my hands up to the small of her back to press her body flat against mine.

It was remarkable how I didn't really care about anything in that moment, just the movements of our bodies and how it felt to kiss her. It felt like a massive circuit overload. Everywhere we touched was a jolt, hot and electric, and the slow burn lingered afterward. Our tongues touched briefly, and it sizzled. Eventually, though, we came up for air, and Lizzie sat back on her haunches, shifting unintentionally so that she was sitting right on top of my erection. I let out a low grunt. She leaned back on her hands so that she could sit comfortably, stretching her legs out so that her feet were flat on the bed. She rested there for a bit, smiling at me dazedly and trying to catch her breath. Her face and neck were flushed, and I noticed she seemed a bit sweaty (had it always been this toasty in my room? I wasn't aware I'd cranked the heat up that far!).

She fanned herself with her hand and smiled mischievously. "God," she murmured in a sultry voice that was more of a low rumble, other hand rubbing her neck sensually, "you've never done _that_ before." Her hand stopped, fingers coming down to splay out on her cleavage. I swallowed hard, trying not to be half as affected as I felt by that statement. I assumed she was referring to when I had kissed my way across her lips. She was right, too. I wouldn't have done something like that back when we had a thing, and I didn't really care enough about any of my former dates or girlfriends to bother. She met my eyes, and I realized the accusation in her words. She chuckled briefly, still breathless. "You're really pulling out all the stops for Sylvia, eh?" she rasped, smiling beatifically. Nonetheless, as she said this, the sheen of lust in her eyes dulled just a little and her smile fell a fraction.

I shrugged, feeling suddenly very awkward because it dawned on me... there was my sister, flushed, breathless, and swollen from my own efforts, _mine_. She was giving me a very warm and weary smile, and the whole moment just hit me as far too intimate. It was the kind of secretive, satisfied smile a girl gives a guy after... And I mean, we hadn't even done anything like that, just make-out, and that, really, I mean, it's not like I was really that handsy or anything because it was pretty much all to move her around and in relatively harmless spots and we have all of our clothes on, and nothing like that kind of... satisfaction... even happened! The whole situation was just all around extremely wrong, and I felt that keenly.

My first thought after Lizzie said what she did was that that was funny, since I hadn't thought of Sylvia _once_ until Lizzie said her name. I hadn't been thinking of a damn thing when I kissed Lizzie. I just did what felt right and good. And, needless to say, that scared me. Lizzie giggled a little to herself, briefly touching her lips before hastily pulling her hand away. "I think you've been holding out on me," she proclaimed jokingly, fixing me with a mock-severe look before laughing to herself. I closed my eyes for a moment and internally winced at her words because they implied that I had an obligation to share this side of myself with her and actually do things like this on a regular basis and _shame_ on me for not pulling out my best seduction moves to use on my sister!

Her eyes sparkled. Then she came towards me again, swaying like a drunken bird. As her hands came up to my face, I thought that, also like a drunken bird, she was about to fly into someone's windshield, and it was not going to be pretty. She lightly slapped my cheek, grinning. "That was nice," she said simply. I nodded, agreeing with her (although it was a bit of an understatement) and also wondering what she was still doing in my lap. "But," she said suddenly seriously, "It was missing something. A little more tongue, maybe?" I gaped at her for a moment, mildly offended, while she regarded me with an expectant, impatient look.

At first, I was resolved not to kiss her, but then my competitive nature got the better of me, and I pulled her back down on top of me, pushing myself up to meet her halfway. I ran my tongue along her lower lip before deepening the kiss, swirling my tongue around inside her mouth. I fell back against the headboard and grunted. My teeth brushed against her sensitive lips, and she moaned a little, wiggling closer. Realizing her position and just how close I was to being flat on my back, I moved up and broke the kiss, firmly holding her back by her shoulders. Lizzie blinked, confused, as if she wondered why I'd stopped.

She frowned and shook her head at me childishly. "Nuh uh. I think you need to kiss me again. To, you know, get it right," she declared boldly, putting her hands on my cheeks. She batted her eyelashes, and I gave her a skeptical look. Now she was just being ridiculous. Admittedly, I was a little lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and blood flow to my brain, but even I knew by that point that Lizzie was just looking for an excuse. She gave me a serious look, brushing her thumbs against my cheeks, coming _so_ close to my mouth. "For Sylvia," she said solemnly, innocently, about a second before pressing her lips against mine. She tangled her fingers in my hair, pulling my head towards her, trying to force my lips open.

Since I knew continuing to kiss Lizzie was a bad idea, and she'd brought up Sylvia again, which made me feel dirty, I pulled away from her almost immediately. I shifted away from her in the bed, adjusting my bedding. I fixed her with a sort of stern look, folding my arms over my chest and trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to get more comfortable (or, to at least make it somehow less obvious that I had enjoyed that a little too much). "Uh huh, sure," I scoffed, rolling my eyes at her. "I think you just want to kiss me again," I replied pointedly, raising my eyebrows.

Lizzie's blush was more than enough of an answer. She flopped down next to me, covering her face for a moment before turning to me once again. She shrugged and offered me a lopsided smile. "Maybe... but can you blame me?" she confessed, wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked mildly embarrassed, sitting there, biting her lip. I tried not to look at her, to see her breasts jutting out. She knocked her shoulder against mine playfully, making me look at her. "It's true, you know, what I said to the girls," she told me frankly. I furrowed my brow, confused as to what she was talking about. Lizzie continued talking, "You're the best kisser. Of anyone I've ever kissed. Ever." She stated it as if she was certain, glancing at me momentarily and smiling shyly. "No one kisses me like _you_ do," she murmured thoughtfully, fingers absently brushing her lips. Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she gazed up at me, leaning against my shoulder. "I just really thought you should know that."

I gave her a curious look, but she didn't see that because she was looking away from me. The things she'd just said had only managed to confuse me more and... did kind of funny things to me, really. I wondered why she used those words in particular to try and explain, why she thought I should know that I was the best kiss she'd ever had (which is, wow, a _lot_ to live up to... and, also, Lizzie had kissed a _lot_ of boys). She twisted her head around to look at me fondly, stroking my cheek absentmindedly with the back of her hand and leaning into me a little bit more. "Why can't all boys kiss like you? That would just be so much easier..." she mused, mostly to herself. She was staring at my lips again, and I knew I was in dangerous territory once again.

"Because I'm not like most boys?" I posed, shrugging. Lizzie made a face at me. "Because I know what you like?" I offered a moment later. Liz tried and failed to hide her smile behind her hands. That smile said maybe I had a point there. "Because you actually trust me?" I continued. She nodded, almost to herself, and her hand slipped down to squeeze my shoulder. I don't know why I kept talking. Maybe I felt like I had to explain my own actions or rationalize hers. Maybe I was trying to make a point about her choice in guys. "Because I actually care about you?" Her smile widened at that, and she swiftly turned and pressed a sloppy kiss to my cheek.

I made a face at her, but Lizzie just smirked at me. The whole thing was disturbingly domestic. She looked at the clock, as did I. It read 5:06. Seeing this, Lizzie pushed my side, motioning for me to get up. "You know, Ed, you've gotta get your ass moving here! Sylvia really likes punctual guys!" she exclaimed, attempting to shove me out of bed. I scowled at her, but she fixed me with a rather severe look. "Come on, Ed. You go shower and get ready, and I'll set out some clothes for you," she said briskly, finally pushing me off of the bed. She had a point, so I griped about it a bit but nonetheless walked over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of boxers then headed down the stairs.

I turned on the shower and jumped in, absorbing the cold. Despite some things I've heard, jacking off before a first date, much less when I will undoubtedly be thinking of another girl whom I shouldn't even be thinking of in the first place, is not a good idea. Eventually, when I was shaking, I turned up the heat and finished up my shower, toweling off and pulling up my boxers. I shaved, put on deodorant, and stared at myself in the mirror for a second, trying to figure out what to do with my hair. I didn't really feel comfortable walking through the hallway so scantily-clad, much less heading up to face Lizzie in my bedroom in the thin cotton fabric, but I didn't really have a choice, so I headed back upstairs.

True to her word, Lizzie was waiting and had laid clothes out for me on my bed. I walked past her, heading for the clothes. A long-sleeved blue button-up shirt, black blazer, belt, and a pair of jeans was laying on my bed. Apparently she saw fit to let me pick out my own shoes and socks. The only thing that surprised me was the blue shirt. I threw a thank-you over my shoulder and started getting dressed, back facing Lizzie. I buttoned and straightened my clothes but felt a little ridiculous wearing a blazer, although Lizzie assured me Sylvia would like it. Given Lizzie's past attempts to, um, "help" me out with Sylvia, I wasn't entirely reassured that she was giving me correct advice.

Nonetheless, Lizzie fixed my hair, styling it neatly, sprayed cologne on me, and appraised my appearance. She was doing everything in her power to help me succeed with Sylvia, even giving me random information on things Sylvia liked, and the sudden influx of help made me nervous. When she judged my appearance to be suitable enough, she pressed a piece of paper into my palm and handed me the keys to the Prince. "Here," she said. She looked down, shuffled her feet a bit. "It's Sylvia's address," she explained a moment later.

We stood there together for an awkward moment. I smiled at her. "Thanks, Liz. I really appreciate all your help," I told her, glancing down at the address on the piece of paper and beginning to figure out the schematics of how to get there. As if reading my mind, Lizzie turned the piece of paper over, and I saw she'd scribbled down directions ("so I couldn't get lost," according to the phrase above the directions. I assume this precaution was taken presumably so that I could not possibly let Sylvia down, either on purpose or through my own stupidity). I was confused and suspicious, since her behavior seemed to be in diametrical opposition to her original fairly long-held beliefs, and I found it hard to believe that she'd had such a sudden change of heart.

I mean, just for an example, back when Lizzie dated Dan... yeah, I was _never_ really okay with that. I pretended like I was, tried not to show how it strained my friendships with both of them, but it really did bother me. And it wasn't even that my two best friends were dating each other, which was bad enough, because obviously I trusted them both immensely. It was more that I disliked the position they put me in, with my loyalty divided between the both of them. It was an immensely awkward and uncomfortable period for me, especially since I'd walk in on them making out all the time, which really made me nauseous after a while. And just in case you're thinking any of that has anything to do with my former feelings towards Lizzie and them possibly continuing, they don't. It's just kind of disgusting when your best friend is making out with someone in front of you, even if you're all good friends. Even really good friends should have more class and respect for you than that, for starters. Secondly and more importantly, you don't really want to know _everything_ about your friends, even your best friends, and some things are just too much information, such as the way in which Dan decided to make-out with and touch my sister.

My friends can all testify to the fact that, no matter how much I like them, I do not want them going out with my sister or talking about her in certain ways. My behavior when Lizzie went out with Teddy, I think, speaks for itself. Even when she was dating Dan, I never once intentionally gave her advice, except when it came for buying him presents. Otherwise, I just tried to stay out of it. I didn't even give _Dan_ advice when they had fights. This is how I know Lizzie cannot possibly be okay with this. She has some reason for seeming so helpful, but it's not out of a genuine, altruistic desire. "It's nothing," she said dismissively. A beat later, she smiled, but it didn't really meet her eyes. "Anything for a friend."

I thanked her again, collected my wallet and coat, and left with mixed feelings. It wasn't the way I would've chosen to feel before a date I'd been looking forward to for days. Really, it was more than that, since I'd been looking forward to the possibility of dating Sylvia for _years._ So why do I feel kind of... psyched out, rather than psyched?

- Loren ;*

Next Chapter: Date with Sylvia, a bit of Ed and Lizzie (that I also happen to really like), more questions than answers, and a hint at what's to come when all the family shows up. I'm really excited actually because I get to start in on all of the Christmas madness. So many chapters, so many happenings, but oh-so important!


	18. Significant Figures

First off, sorry it took me so long to update, by the way. There was that whole me-being-in-Russia-thing, though. I apologize about the irregularity of updates this year. It's just a weird time for me, I guess, since I've only been home for like two and a half months this year. No down time. But you don't care about that, so on to the important stuff...

Okay, so here is me attempting to incorporate the movie, as I finally got around to seeing it whenever it was I wrote this author's note. Sometime this summer, probably. This is actually _kind_ of **important**, so you might want to pay attention to this part. Anyway, I'm trying to keep this fic as non-AU as possible, but, alas, the writers do things like this just to mess with me, even when I anticipate their plotlines... I do not think these are particularly profound -spoilers- for said movie, but I will warn you anyway. The epilogue did **not** happen (because, in this story, Derek and Casey were _not_ on good terms by that point, and, as Edwin points out in the following chapter, Derek and Casey haven't been anywhere together for an extended period of time since Christmas their first year of college), or, rather, it _could_ _have_ happened, but Derek was simply not _there_, let's say. Second and largest difference between canon and my story: the baby's name is Sebastian, not Simon, and he was born four/five months _before_ they went on vacation, as Nora got pregnant earlier (although, hey, I got it pretty damn close. First letter was an S, last one an N, and a dude name. I got it closer than anyone else, so whatever. Plus mine's prettier, but I digress). This is a large difference, but it really isn't very important because it changes very little about the character and timeline. Also, obviously, in my story, Derek wound up going to Western rather than Queens. I'd say that Casey not going to Queens would be AU, but given that we don't know what she decided to do... I say it's within the realm of possibility that she didn't go. Basically, though, she deferred for a semester to stay home and help out with Sebastian. Then, after that semester, she decided to go to U of T instead. And those are the only differences. Which, is really me only changing two things, as the other things I changed were all in the future and thus within the realm of possibility, especially given Derek was waitlisted for Western. But I digress.

Also, I'll admit that I am taking a few liberties with their families. But it's based on the little we know from the show... which is that Nora has two sisters: Fiona and Belinda (though Belinda could be a brother's wife, though it seems more likely that she's Nora's other sister, given that she mentioned that their mom was seeing someone in her pottery class in the letter). Fiona, who married Harry, is Vicky's mother and that they live in Toronto. Belinda and her family live in Calgary. Also, George has at least one brother, Robbie, who lives in Winnipeg and is competitive, boring, and wealthier than George. And George also has a slightly crazy aunt named Madge, who wasn't invited to the wedding, lives in Ottawa, and is a cheek-pincher... Also, before I saw Vacation with Derek, I knew pitifully little about the grandmother. And I know her last name is Webster or whatever, but I don't want that to be Nora's maiden name because it's like... Nora Webster sounds stupid, and who says Felicia even kept her husband's name, so I'm gonna say that that's her maiden name. Just because I don't like it.

Anyway, so, since the whole family is coming down (fortunately not in this chapter), I'll give you kind of a rundown of who they are. There's all the McDonald-Venturis, of course. Then all the family members you know about: Aunt Fiona, Uncle Harry, Cousin Vicky, Aunt Madge, Grandma Felicia, Uncle Robbie, and Aunt Belinda. Now, Belinda, Nora's older sister, is married to Bill, and they have six kids: Maureen, Agnes, Erin, Kelly, Keira, and Logan. Erin is Casey's age. Kelly and Keira are Liz and Ed's age, respectively, and Irish twins ('cause they were born in the same year). Also, Kelly is a boy. Finally, Logan is around Marti's age, maybe a bit older. Then there's Felicia's sisters, Great Aunts Sheila and Moira, both of whom are mentioned in this chapter, and Sheila's daughter, Darcy. Finally, there's Bridie, who is Felicia's mother and thus Casey and Lizzie's great-grandmother. On George's side, there's Uncle Robbie and his significantly younger trophy wife. Uncle Robbie has three sons: Lucas, Robbie Jr., and Marshall, whom Ed also talks about in this chapter. And I think that's about all I need to say about them for now. There'll be plenty of description for when they actually show up, which is a ways down the road.

Okay, so I really intended for this chapter to be all about Sylvia and Ed with the little bit at the end, but somehow I feel like it _still_ all wound up being about Lizzie. *sigh* I just... ugh... I even like Sylvia, but obviously I like writing about Lizzie more, and you can always tell that. But, to be fair, I never really like writing dates. Too much stupid small talk and all that to get through. And, ugh, given my ultra pathetic dating history, it's a wonder they really come out decent, given that the mere thought of going out on a date now feels so alien to me that I've forgotten, I guess. Point is, although it feels a little weird from the parts I show you, you always remember the weird and awkward bits and not always the fun parts. I mean, really, think about your life. Do you really remember all the good parts? Or is it easier to remember the really bad things? That's just life for you. Edwin did have fun on his date with Sylvia, though. He really did. I swear. Just because I know people are gonna try to say he didn't. He's just... confused.

* * *

**Significant Figures: **Any digits of a number, excluding leading zeros, that contribute to the overall degree of accuracy of the number, especially in terms of rounding.

* * *

I drove up to her house cautiously, wary of the weather. I left the car running and walked up to the front door, glancing around to see if anyone was around to potentially steal it. No one was, fortunately, so I knocked on the front door. Sylvia opened it immediately, kind of as if she'd been there waiting.

I blinked, taking in her outfit and the enthusiasm so blatantly painted on her face. Enthusiasm for a date with me, I realized faintly, incredulously. I gave her a long once-over because, hey, I could look at her for as long as I liked, and Lizzie wasn't going to elbow me in the side and make a sarcastic comment about it. She wore her hair swept back, away from her face, half-up and half-down. Shiny blue stones (sapphires, perhaps?) dangled from her ears. She was wearing a bit more make-up than I was accustomed to seeing on her, a light shimmering purple eyeshadow I had never before seen that brought out the brown in her eyes, rosier-than-normal cheeks, and reddish-pink lipstick. Sylvia always took pride and care in her appearance, but it was clear that she'd taken it an entire step further here.

I let my gaze slowly travel downwards. She was wearing a lacy black velvet blazer over a warm red, form-fitting dress that was made of smooth, flowing lines, catching and highlighting every curve of her figure. The blazer was buttoned up to highlight the almost impossible cleavage the dress gave her. The red of the dress was more of a burgundy, really, darker, a bit purplish almost, sensual. The dress flared out at the hips and stopped just above her knees. Underneath it she was wearing elaborate black lace tights that allowed pale skin to peek through the holes in the fabric enticingly. On her feet, she wore black leather lace-up stiletto boots that stopped a couple inches below her knees. All and all, she made for a very attractive, incredibly sexy picture... one that made me feel horribly guilty because I wasn't dressed near as nice and there was that whole making-out with my stepsister incident that occurred just before this.

Sylvia had been reaching for her overcoat, so she hadn't noticed the duration of my stare, but she turned to put it on and caught my (somewhat dazed) amazed stare. She smiled faintly, cheeks reddening further. And, after almost swallowing my tongue, I decided it was time to say something rather than stand there drinking the sight of her in the wholly inappropriate, thirsting way that one gapes at pornography. I like to pretend I'm somewhat smooth and have a bit more class than that, after all. It's why I get all the ladies, don't you know? "Hey, Sylvia... You look... stunning," I managed a bit breathlessly, though I couldn't quite manage to keep the naked wonder out of my voice. The air and her beauty were conspiring to embarrassingly rob me of oxygen.

The sight of her, dressed like that, was conjuring up images of warm fires and hot chocolate and Christmas, all of which were warping my mind, because the holidays were never like that for me, never like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting or Christmas movie. McDonald-Venturi Christmases are, quite honestly, more like a mixture of Home Alone and The Nightmare Before Christmas, if we're lucky. It was sort of disturbing, really, because she was making me see happy things like little children and families and giving me thoughts of settling down, and like, I'm eighteen and I shouldn't be thinking that I could probably marry this girl, you know? The truly disturbing thing was that I really liked the warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

It didn't even make me nauseous or anything. And I know I'm not my brother, and that I've got to be seriously cracked if I expect the feeling to make me nauseous (although I suspect that's more of the _perpetually_ nauseous feeling I've been having lately when I think about Lizzie in a less brotherly way than I should... I've been having that feeling so long, I'm beginning to associate it with desire!), but it was kind of reassuring to feel, well... normal, for once. Sometimes you can just sit and appreciate feeling like a normal human being. I do realize that all of this is making me sound like some kind of... sissy, or something, and that Derek would probably hit me and tell me to grow a pair, but, honestly, I've always been kind of a warm-and-fuzzy guy, just like Derek is deep, deep down.

"Oh really?" she said, slipping into her coat and reaching a hand back to sweep her hair out from her coat. She smiled winningly. "This was just in my closet," she said modestly. But then, upon stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her, Sylvia chuckled, toying with the hem of her dress. "Yeah, I'm just gonna pretend I haven't had this outfit in the back of closet for years, collecting dust waiting it for this very occasion," she muttered a bit nervously, smoothing her outfit. I raised an eyebrow, surprised at the admission, and she smiled faintly.

It was so easy, then, to just reach over, take her hand, and walk to the car. The path to her front door was slick, even to me, so I wanted to be sure she didn't fall. Sylvia's hand was still warm from inside, and I felt this faint tingle where our skin touched. It was still so hard for me to believe that this, something I'd long dreamt and fantasized about, was actually occurring. It felt surreal, like a dream. I cleared my throat, needing to say something. "So, what've you been up to since getting out of class?" I asked, having to force my voice to be calm and steady.

It felt more awkward than it should have. We stopped in front of the passenger's door, still holding hands. Sylvia made a face and shrugged. "You know, putting up lights, helping my mother make food for Hanukkah, trying to tell her how much of a colossally bad idea it is to invite Dad and his new girlfriend to the celebration... the usual. You?" she replied, sounding quite a bit like I would in a few short days. There was no doubt in my mind that Casey would be running us all ragged preparing for the holiday festivities.

Nonetheless, I felt guilty because she'd reminded me of what I'd been doing before the date, and it was stupid, stupid, stupid of me to even ask her that in the first place. I let go of her hand and there was a pregnant pause as I tried to think of an acceptable answer. Because what I'd actually been doing: making out with your best friend in my bedroom, as usual... would have been the death knell to any possible chance with Sylvia. After a moment, I said, more nonchalantly than I actually meant, "Napping, eating, showering. You know, just fulfilling the basic needs I've neglected lately." I could've cringed at my own words. The skeptical, snide little voice in my head rejoined, oh, really, is that why you were kissing Lizzie? Is that what you call it now, to dress it up as something other than the incest it is?

Sylvia nodded, and after opening her door for her, I abruptly headed to the driver's side of the car and got in. I was afraid she'd see right through my half-truths and lies of omission if she looked directly at me and saw the expression on my face. I drove to Smelly Nelly's, out of a lack of a better option and familiarity with the place, and I was surprised at how easy it was to exchange small talk with her about school and our lives on the way there. It wasn't as awkward as I'd feared.

We sat down and ordered. We happened to snag the best booth in the house, since I'm tight with the management, and I did actually work here for one brief but very awkward stint in tenth grade, before I started working at Dad's office but after the six months I spent working at the hardware store. Sylvia was impressed that they were pulling all the strings out for me, naturally. I asked her about the school paper, since Sylvia just so happened to be Editor-in-Chief. She smiled brightly and started chattering on about her next article. "We're doing this massive feature on our hockey team, actually, since you know the Bulldogs are having a ridiculously great year... I mean, we haven't played this great since y-"

She stopped then, realizing what was inevitably going to be coming next and how such a statement might have affected me. I smiled, briefly amused at her consideration and the very pregnant silence, but I motioned for her to go on anyway. "You might as well just say it," I told her.

She flushed and looked half-apologetic and half-grateful. "Since your brother was here," she said a bit stiffly, attempting some sort of a smile before pushing on. "And, anyway, I already interviewed Coach Anderson about the team... And this totally ridiculous little freshman girl jumped on the chance to interview Serge because she thinks he's really hot or whatever and I guess knows about his reputation-" I snorted, imagining Serge fending off a tiny little freshman by telling her he'd already moved on to college girls. She shook her head and then smiled conspiratorially. "And, actually, when I was talking to Coach Anderson, he told me something very interesting..."

I stiffened in anticipation of what she was going to say next. I could see her lips slowly forming into a smile, like she was about to start giggling. "I didn't know you tried out for the hockey team, Edwin!" I sighed into my hands and nodded very slowly, grimacing. That was not one of my finer moments. Sylvia laughed and pried my hands from my face. Apparently I'd spoken the thought aloud. "Yeah... you know, he was all broken up about you not joining the team. He took it as a kind of personal affront! Said that the team could've been twice as good if you joined," she continued playfully. She tilted her head at me and leaned forward slightly. "Forgive me here, Edwin, but I was never under the impression that you were very good at hockey," she said curiously, tone clearly implying an explanation was needed.

I shrugged, not offended by her comment. "Apparently I'm pretty hot stuff on the ice when I'm pissed off," I told her. "You spend enough time dodging pucks from Derek and Lizzie, and I guess you pick up a thing or two... even from just watching players like that, I guess," I added a moment later. Sylvia raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed.

"I'm learning all kinds of new things about you, Edwin," she said cheerfully. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass of water. She flipped her hair behind her shoulders and leaned in a little bit more. I recognized the questioning journalist's look in her eyes and anticipated the question that was to follow. "If you don't mind me asking," she began demurely, looking down a little. She paused for a moment before raising her eyes up to look at me. Of course, it was all in vain because I knew her journalist routine: play it safe and sweet, innocent and all that to earn their trust, and then start asking tough questions. "Why did you say no to Coach A? Why didn't you join the team?"

I gave her the simplest answer. "Because I'm not my brother." Whenever I mention my brother, people either want to talk about him or go silent, and I automatically judge them based on that choice. Wisely, Sylvia just nodded and left it to me to continue the conversation or else come up with a new question. At that very moment, they brought us our food, and we were both silent for a minute as we started to eat.

I sighed quietly. There was actually something I wanted to bring up with her, but it didn't seem like a good topic for a first date, let alone not quite even halfway through. Nonetheless, I'd been wondering ever since she agreed to go out with me, and I do not do well with uncertainty. Even if I do not like the truth, I am always bound to chase it and explore it because, ultimately, I just need to know. So I opened my big mouth, after swallowing, of course, and I asked her, "Did Lizzie have anything to do with this? You going out with me, I mean."

She stared at me, dumbfounded, fork halfway to her mouth. Realizing how I had jammed my foot incredibly far into my mouth, I swallowed thickly and let the shabby explanation stammer its way out. "It's just, and I know this sounds stupid and probably kind of like an asshole thing to say, but Lizzie and I had this bet... and I won. And I asked her to do something for me... to, um, get you to go out with me. And I... I just wanted to know if she in any way put you up to this somehow... or if you're just here because you like me. I don't want you to feel obligated or anything..."

Sylvia stared at me for a good moment, absorbing all this. I wondered, vaguely horror-stricken, if she was furious with me (and she did have the right to be), because I realized just how cringe-worthy that entire little speech came out. Then, with a great deal of restraint, Sylvia closed her mouth and set her fork down, primly smoothing her skirt. I tensed in preparation for her response. "_What_ are you talking about? Lizzie didn't even talk to me about this. She never asked me anything about you... If it were up to her, I honestly don't think we'd be here right now... I mean, I'm pretty sure she'd rather gouge her _eyeballs_ out than help me date you. Whenever I asked her to help me, she always just kinda shut me down like the whole thing annoyed her a little," she said a bit testily.

It occurred to me then that Sylvia sounded just a little bit resentful of her friend. I guess all best friends have their own issues, though. I frowned, though, in contemplation, wondering why, if that was true, Lizzie would've been so helpful to me earlier this evening, or at least _pretending_ to be helpful. She could've given me the address or picked out some horrible clothes for me, after all. However, then again, I don't suppose making out with your best friend's date right before their first date is a particularly helpful thing to do (for any of us, really, except perhaps Lizzie). Why does none of this add up? There's nothing I hate more than a problem set that doesn't add up.

I blinked dumbly, taking this incompatibility in and frowned to myself. "Sorry. I just had to ask," I told her. Honestly, in retrospect, I kind of wish I didn't ask because it had made things awkward, but it was nice to know. I guess, though, that it's really sad I have to ask this sort of thing. I'm not sure if it says more about me (and my self-esteem, or lack thereof) or me and my relationship with Lizzie. And at that moment, I knew I desperately needed to change the subject. "So," I said, laughing nervously (God, what am I, twelve?), "You really busy over break?"

Inwardly, I cringed at the lameness of my comment and at how much it sounded like a half-ass, barely disguised attempt to ask her out again. Sylvia still looked a bit miffed, but she relaxed a little. Great. I probably screwed everything up by asking her that question about Lizzie. She even looked insulted. Great, ruining potential relationships with non-Lizzie-girls before they even start. That also served to remind me that WHAT THE _HELL_ WAS I DOING TALKING ABOUT MY SISTER, i.e. another girl, **period**, ON A DATE WITH MY DREAM GIRL? Clearly _something_ must be wrong with me, because I cannot be all right in the head!

And, just perfect, now I am having a Casey-scale freak-out in my head. Okay, Edwin, breathe here. She might be Lizzie's best friend, but you know better than to talk about Lizzie on a date. Sylvia shrugged, still a bit wary. "Not really. Just a lot more dinners with the extended family... what about you?" she said pleasantly. Then she smiled almost secretively and said, "From what I've heard, it's a zoo." She didn't say she'd heard from Lizzie, but she didn't need to.

Family was a dangerous topic, but it was easy to theorize about the many things that would, undoubtedly, go wrong. I shrugged at first, trying to play it off, but then nodded because obviously she knew my family has never even remotely resembled something normal. "Oh yeah. I'm sure Casey is already plotting all our family-friendly moments as I speak... Apparently all of our family's coming in, and let's just say there are a lot of insane people in that family. Who may or may not be staying with us," I replied with a bit of a grimace. Sylvia nodded sympathetically, but, to be fair, she has no idea what we're dealing with. Let's just say that Nora has an aunt who has very fragile mental health, and, though they assure me that nothing will happen, the woman has had one or two psychotic breaks, no matter how normal she may seem... and our family is more than enough to drive a perfectly sane person mad. "And, you know, Derek and Casey under the same roof for the first time in four years? A disaster of epic proportions is bound to occur."

Huh. As I said it, I realized that, wow, had it actually been that long since they'd last seen each other? I mean, I knew Casey didn't come down often, but not once in four years? How does no one in our family find that completely insane!

Okay, so that's a lie. They _have_ seen each other in few years (but not in a few months). Generally by accident, though, or for a few hours at Dad and Mom's anniversary dinner, and always on neutral ground. Never for long, either. They saw each other nowadays only when they couldn't avoid it, and, as far as I knew, Derek hadn't seen her since her engagement. Not that I had, for that matter, but still, you see the point.

Like I knew that Casey sometimes went to his hockey games, for instance, if he was in Toronto, or if there was the off-chance that she was in town... but she _always _made her excuses and ducked out before he'd emerged from the locker rooms. And, Derek... He actually goes to Casey's dance recitals and performances half the time, but he always leaves the exact moment before she spots him... and, get this, he actually leaves behind a bouquet of flowers! Personally, I find it completely ridiculous, because both of them have probably seen each other in the audience and for certain know that the other was there, and they both get the exact same awkward, strained and maybe even a little sad look on their face when they hear that they've just missed the other one.

They used to run into each other a lot more in the earlier days, back when Casey wasn't entirely committed to avoiding London like the plague, but they'd never been alone. She was always attached to Truman or Noel or some gay friend she'd recruited into babysitting her. No doubt so Derek would back off and not say anything too... bad? Wrong? True? Otherwise, Casey and Derek usually showed up at events at entirely different times or alternated visits, like they'd divorced each other and had planned out some elaborate visitation schedule with our family. Derek gets Easter and Halloween and half of Marti and Sebastian's birthdays, whereas Casey usually gets Spring Break and Canada Day and Nora and Lizzie's birthdays. Derek is default, meaning he gets more time with us, mostly because he lives here.

As for Christmas, they alternate. Casey spent her first Christmas in college at Truman's, which is, admittedly, still here in London, so she was able to pop by every now and again. But Derek was always up in his room sleeping or out, and Casey was always wary of him. By the next Christmas, Casey was home, holed up in her room with her mother, sister, a lot of tissues, and sappy movies, not over Truman. Derek spent promptly one day here (painfully aware he wasn't wanted or welcome?) before impetuously deciding to spend the rest of the holiday break with Mom in sunny South America. Finally, last Christmas, Casey was with her dad, which had annoyed me to no end, as that meant that Lizzie was also with her, and I was left friendless. However, Derek, who'd been practically vegetating here, was conveniently absent on the one day she was here. Nonetheless, I was quite surprised that both of them had not found the opportunity for other plans or impromptu holiday visits of other family members or friends, such as Casey's fiancé's family.

And looking back at... at all of that weirdness... I then realized why Lizzie never told Sylvia. Because Sylvia is the Emily in this situation. And, I felt really awkward about that, so I just started rambling about things. Next thing I knew, I was telling stories left and right about my family, about Casey and Derek from the good days, about Marti as a kid, things Sebastian had done, that time we saved the lake on our vacation. And the weirdest thing was that I was actually smiling! And Sylvia was right there with me, volleying back with stories about her crazy aunt, her cheap uncle, her father's trashy girlfriend, her many cousins, and her bubbe. And then we started talking about classes, and it was suddenly so easy.

The hours flew by quickly. I glanced down for a second and saw that it was almost ten. I looked around and noticed, for the first time, that the restaurant was currently in the process of shutting down. Alejandro the manager gave me a pointed look, as if asking or pleading with me to leave so he could close out. We were the only people still left in the restaurant. I took pity on him, having always been stuck with the unpleasant job of closing up when I worked here, and paid for the meal, telling Sylvia a bit reluctantly that we should probably go. We got up and headed out to the car.

The conversation continued inside the car, and, God, it was nice. To carry on a normal conversation with a girl I was attracted to. To not be worrying about Lizzie or thinking about her or our family drama. I couldn't get over it. The fact I was surprised by it was probably the saddest part. We talked about school and music and all kinds of things I didn't normally talk about with other people. That was nice too.

As we got out of the car, heading for her front door, Sylvia suddenly turned to me. And she looked at me for a moment and smiled, cocking her head at me a little. I blinked and opened my mouth to ask her why she was looking at me like that, a bit like she couldn't believe it... but then I realized I didn't really need to ask because that had been how I felt. I wasted so much time not giving it a shot because... why? Because Lizzie told me it would never happen, and I told myself it wouldn't work, and, yet, here we are... and it's been... _great_.

Despite my neuroses.

She exhaled, smiling faintly. "You know," Sylvia said with a little laugh, motioning between the two of us, "I never thought I would be able to do this." Her smile brightened a little at the realization, and she kept laughing a little bit, incredulous or delirious or something like that.

I frowned, wondering what exactly she meant. Did she mean go out with me? So I went for the safe route and assumed that it had something to do with Lizzie's rather significant attempt at foiling any attempt at this. "You mean because of Lizzie? Or because you thought I was entirely indifferent?" I asked her, brow furrowed with mild confusion.

Sylvia shook her head and let out another peal of laughter. "No, not that..." she said but didn't elaborate. I gave her a significant look, signaling to her that I wanted her to go on. She shrugged haplessly and bit her lip, looking at me uncertainly. All I did was keep staring at her, hoping it would help to get an answer out of her. She sighed and gave in but still looked a little apprehensive. "It's just, there's kind of this unwritten rule about never going out with a guy your friend liked," she admitted rather uncomfortably, looking up at me to gage my reaction.

"One of your friends liked me?" I asked incredulously, a bit put-out that Lizzie hadn't told me. I blinked numbly. Had Lizzie sabotaged other relationships for me? "Which one?" I wanted to know but also _really, really _did not want her to tell me the answer was Rebecca. I think I might vomit if that was the case... though I suppose it would explain why she slept with me, a mystery that continues to elude me to this day. It's a really good thing I forgot sleeping with her. Much better for my sanity, I should think. But still, ugh, to think I lost my virginity to her! It's worse than sleeping with Tanya, but the fact that I remember absolutely none of it is a wonderful consolation prize.

"A bit eager, aren't we, Edwin? Remember, you are on a date with another woman, Mister," she said teasingly, putting a hand on her hip. I sighed exaggeratedly and gave her an expectant look. I know it's a lot asking a girl to betray a friend's confidence, but it was ages ago and that girl probably doesn't feel the same as she did back then, and, hell, Sylvia's never exactly been a vacuum of secrets, if you know what I mean. Sylvia snorted and shook her head at me. "Lizzie!" she exclaimed before bursting into a fit of giggles. She said it in a not-quite-scandalized tone, as if the thought of it now was entirely ridiculous to her.

I blinked numbly. Lizzie? I must've heard wrong or something. Sylvia kept talking though, gesturing rapidly with her hands. "You know, I always kind of had this little thought in the back of my mind that she was so discouraging to me because she still liked you and felt like I was moving in on her territory," she confessed, throwing me a sideways glance, punctuating the statement with a finger in the air.

This was all a lot to process, but she was assuredly correct in the fact that Lizzie _had_ felt that Sylvia was moving in on her territory. She'd admitted as much to me, in not quite so blatant terms that really didn't explain much of the nature of her feelings for me. But I was sure Lizzie didn't like me. At least, not still. And not like _that_. But, still, the alpha female would naturally scheme and manipulate to mark off her territory, and, wow, that naturist point-of-view is really leading me down paths I would rather not travel, so I think I'm best leaving that stuff to Lizzie. I also need to stop watching Animal Planet, apparently. This also inevitably led me to wondering why, if Sylvia had the slightest idea that Lizzie might... like me... or whatever... that she would consider going out with me, despite her own feelings. Isn't it worse if you know your friend likes a guy?

All of this is entirely ridiculous, of course, because Lizzie does **not** have those kind of feelings for me. Romantic ones. She doesn't. She is in love with my brother, and we are best friends. We do not have that kind of relationship, and we never have. Even when we had something, it wasn't anything like a damn romance novel. We didn't date. We didn't go anywhere. We didn't hold hands. We didn't snuggle. There were no expressions of feelings, no chats about what we were to each other, not much talking period. We didn't do any of that. It was more like a friends-with-benefits thing, and, if I'm being really honest with myself here, it screwed us and our relationship up for a long time, and it took a while to get us back to what we were.

And it was a really damn _stupid_ thing to do just because I was curious and she trusted me or whatever the hell her bogus reason was... wanting experience or practice or whatever. Neither of us were ready for what that turned into, not at that time and certainly not with each other. Nonetheless, I forced myself to brush those thoughts aside. "What do you mean... Lizzie?" I questioned, perplexed and unable to grasp what she was saying.

Sylvia, who'd taken my hand and was starting to head back up to her porch, stopped suddenly in her tracks and frowned at me a little. "Lizzie was the friend that liked you, Edwin," she said very seriously, giving me a weird look, like that should've been obvious. Everything was suddenly so still, frozen like the air and the ground beneath us. I shook my head, unable to comprehend let alone believe what Sylvia was saying. How would she know anyways? Lizzie never told Sylvia anything she wanted to keep secret, and everyone knew that.

She shook her head, glancing up in memory and smiling to herself a little. "I remember the night she broke up with Jamie... She called me, told me to come over, and when I got there, the first thing she said was that she broke up with Jamie. And I remember that she was kind of freaked, pacing a little and still furious from breaking up with him. I think she was in shock because she was just sort of staring, like she couldn't believe she'd finally done it," she recalled, sounding dazed, lacing our fingers together more tightly.

I knew, as had everyone _but_ Jamie, that the decision to break up with him was a long and protracted one precisely because Liz had wanted to break up with him but didn't have a very good reason. Other than the fact that she felt like she was dating her brother. Honestly, though, I was trying to distract myself from everything having to do with Lizzie at that particular time and trying to kill the hope quietly collecting inside of me, so I wasn't eavesdropping as I normally would've been, which is especially ironic when you consider my vested interest in the situation. To add yet another level of irony, after numerous attempts to talk her into deciding one way or the other (they wanted her to stay with him, _all_ of them), she just up and decided to do it one night, seemingly out of the blue.

Only, I suppose, we all know it wasn't exactly out of the blue. It was different, hearing Sylvia tell it, obviously remembering every detail. She had insights and perspective that Lizzie didn't, being further from the situation. Sylvia continued with an impressive precision, "And then, she paused a minute and said she broke up with him because of _you_. Because of Edwin. That was exactly what she said." Suddenly, I realized, as Sylvia was saying this, she'd started to look me in the eyes, a bit like a scared rabbit. It felt like she was judging me, gaging my reaction... only I didn't quite know how to react.

How could I know? I blinked, not surprised by this information but surprised at her tone. She said that like it actually meant more than it did, you know? Like maybe it _still_ meant something. Of course, it had taken Lizzie four years to tell me same story, minus those direct details, and when she did, it didn't mean anything. I shrugged and tried to play it cool. "Jamie's always been kind of... jealous. She told me that they'd gotten into a fight about me, and that it was just the straw that broke the camel's back. He said some really bad things about me, apparently, and eventually she just couldn't take it anymore and punched him," I recited, shrugging it off, because, well, what good did it do to think about it, especially if it _had_ actually mattered? I didn't like hearing about this, how we'd just missed each other through stupidity and timing.

In life, the what-ifs, they'll kill you. But only if you let them.

Sylvia raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by this knowledge. "I never knew she'd punched him, but I guess it makes sense, given how angry she was... She was shaking with fury, and she started pacing..." She pursed her lips, trying to remember more. "What Lizzie told _me_ was that Jamie had voiced all these suspicions he'd been having for a while and that she just kind of realized that he was right about everything."

Now, that, _that_ had taken me by surprise. I was speechless. Seeing how I was trying to brush it off, Sylvia said rather bluntly, "Then she outright said to me, "Sylvia, I think I have feelings for Edwin." Sounded like she was kinda lost, like she'd just realized it or something, and she said that she didn't know what to do." I felt like I'd had all of the wind knocked out of me, hearing that. Because Lizzie had never quite dared to say so much, and, as Sylvia was saying all of this, I could literally picture it happening in my head, and it made me a little ill to think of it.

I mean, in retrospect, I don't really know why I was trying to deny it. Lizzie had said she'd dumped Jamie for me. She said she'd liked me. She said she wanted to be with me. She said she was crazy about me. She'd told me all of that herself, but I hadn't really taken it quite seriously, because she admitted one of those things under pressure, another as a sort of joke... and what the hell does the word "like" mean anyway? I knew all of that in my head, but it was different hearing it coming from Sylvia. Maybe because Sylvia hadn't said it was all squarely confined to the past, I guess, whereas Lizzie had specifically confined it to that particular fixed time-frame. Four years is a long time, right?

And I'd _never _told her how I felt, never told anyone, but she had to have _known_, hadn't she?

I shook my head though, trying to erase the thought and the millions of stray ponderings that accompanied it, and kept denying it, despite knowing in my gut that it was true, and that I've always been crap at lying to myself. I guess it was the f-word that did me in. _Feelings_. Hearing that word meant things were more serious than a crush, a fling, some little middle school thing. Maybe I was afraid of that word, just like Derek, of associating it with Lizzie. Somehow the whole thought was still unfathomable to me. "No, she didn't... she didn't," I murmured disbelievingly.

Sylvia frowned and shook her head, disagreeing with me. "You mean you _never_ knew this?" she asked incredulously. I gave her a weak smile, suddenly realizing just how horribly uncomfortable I was, hearing this from her. All of it was serving to remind me precisely why I hated thinking about it in the first place... because it took me right back to that damn summer and left me feeling like an awkward fourteen-year-old loser all over again.

I shook my head and said no, but that was a lie. She'd _just_ told me this year, but she'd never spelled it out like that. Not quite like Sylvia had. She laughed a little. "You know, Lizzie had this big crush on you in middle school. Back in Grade Eight. I'm surprised you never knew. We used to tease her about it something awful, that it must be awkward and hard to live with you. And we were always kind of like, "oh, what would Jamie think if he knew?" And she'd always try to brush it off and just say that you were getting cuter and blame it on hormones and living with you. "Nothing's **ever** gonna happen, and, for the last time, I don't want anything to," she always said. "And he's my brother, so it'd be totally weird!" God, Rebecca was the _worst_ about it... She thought you were absolutely disgusting," Sylvia exclaimed amusedly, breaking out into a fit of giggles.

Her impersonation of Lizzie was both dead-on and kind of terrifying because I could be assured that Lizzie had probably said those very things. It was really, _really_ weird to think that Lizzie had had a crush on me, apparently, at the same time as I had one on her. And, I kind of sorta thought that if Lizzie had feelings for me, they were something that started when we were making out, you know? So, this, hearing all of this, much less from Sylvia, left me kind of freaked out. Not, however, too freaked out to not make a joke. "And still does," I added in reference to Rebecca. I forced a bit of a smile, "But that's okay, since I think she's the spawn of Satan. It's actually kind of a compliment, really, if you think about it."

Sylvia laughed boisterously and then quieted and simply smiled at me. "Well, she's missing out, trust me," she quipped, knocking her hip against mine. I grimaced, feeling vaguely sick to my stomach, and thought believe me, she's not. Because she knows. But Sylvia didn't notice. She was too busy leaning in with dreamy, hopeful eyes, and I was so caught in my thoughts that I didn't notice until her lips had touched mine. Her eyes closed immediately, but mine stayed open, and it was a good thing they did. A moment later, Sylvia leaned forward, moving closer to me, and she slipped on the ice, abruptly breaking the kiss. She grabbed on to me tightly in an attempt to stay upright, but then her momentum pushed me backwards, causing me to slip and naturally fall back on my ass.

I felt embarrassingly like Casey, but, on the bright side, at least Sylvia had landed on top of me. After a moment, she started to sit up, and we both burst into hysterical laughter. "It's what I get for wearing these damn shoes," Sylvia joked, grimacing a little. My back hurt a little, but I was busy enjoying laying back and having Sylvia straddling me, so I didn't mind too much. Our laughter died out slowly, and then we were just staring at each other. And then I asked myself what the hell was I doing, not taking advantage of a perfectly good excuse to kiss her? So I pushed myself up a little and kissed her.

And, yeah, it was a good kiss, but I was really uncomfortable, so I kind of fell backwards midway through. Sylvia sighed blissfully and pulled back, eyelids still fluttering. The only place I've ever seen that expression on her face before has been my dreams. And I couldn't really enjoy it because, in the back of my mind was this niggling little voice that said it was better with Lizzie. Because, despite what Lizzie had said, I _hadn't_ kissed Sylvia like I'd kissed Lizzie. "I, uh... I should get going," I said awkwardly, breaking the moment my thoughts had ruined in the first place.

Sylvia smiled awkwardly, and I started to push myself off of her, taking the silent signal. "Yeah, you should," she said suddenly. She made a face, realizing how that had come out, and gave me a briefly apologetic look. "It's only going to get worse out, and, somehow, I doubt your family would be too happy with you snowed in at my place. You should get home as soon as possible," she advised, voice heavy with concern. Realistically, I doubted my family would care much, minus Lizzie, but I appreciated the thought. I smiled at her lopsidedly and bent down to help her up.

I pulled her up, and the force of the motion practically threw her into my arms. I sucked in a breath at her proximity, and she smiled faintly, leaning in a little. "So, uh, we should do this again sometime. After the holidays," I rambled, finding it very hard to articulate myself all of a sudden. I just knew I had to keep talking or else I'd kiss her again, and I wouldn't want to leave.

She smirked, knocking her hips against mine playfully. I froze and stared at her, somewhat in awe. "You're right, you know. I had fun," she murmured, eyes sparkling. I think that was a yes to my little proposition. Then she pulled back, smiling mischievously, and headed towards her front door, brushing her clothes off meticulously with her hands. "Drive safe, Ed," she said over her shoulder, throwing me one last look.

I almost turned to leave myself, but something stopped me and held me in my place. A single thought, one unraveled, unresolved thread, kept me rooted to the spot. I knew it probably wasn't the best or wisest thing to bring up, but, like Lizzie, I've always been a little too curious for my own good, so I needed to know. We'd never really finished that conversation about Lizzie having feelings for me, and I had to know what Sylvia had said to her. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter, that I didn't need to know, and that knowing wouldn't change anything, but I was just lying to myself. I cleared my throat, and, against my better judgment, stuttered out a question, "Um, Sylvia, one more thing, if, um, you don't mind me asking... And, uh, all those years ago... what _did_ you tell her to do?"

Sylvia's answer would change how I thought about her. Deep down, I knew that. It would either reinforce or radically alter my (good) opinion of her, and, really, decide for me how to proceed and whether I should.

She turned around immediately on the steps, a hand on the front door, and looked me straight in the eyes. I met her gaze because it was the least I could do. "I told her to tell you..." she professed matter-of-factly, with a frankness and a suddenness that surprised me. She'd answered my question so quickly and without any of the comments or odd looks I'd expected, and I truly appreciated the honesty. "I've always believed honesty and openness are the best policies," she added a moment later, trying to smile. A point of view that no doubt had to do with her journalistic ethics and inability to keep a secret, but a point of view I appreciated nonetheless, since I too sometimes feel that my life is one giant quest for The Truth. Hearing her say that, it filled me with a lot of respect for her. She'd said the right answer.

Sylvia paused here for a moment, frowning, dragging her feet a little. "But, of course," she said with a bitter smile, "she didn't listen to me." I could imagine that. Lizzie is as stubborn as her sister when she wants to be. Sylvia shrugged. "And who knows? Maybe if she had, things would be different..." Her eyes were searching, trying to read me, watching for some sort of reaction or thought to flit across my face. I could hear what she was really saying in her voice, that maybe (definitely) we wouldn't be standing here together at all if she had.

Her voice was kind of wistful, like the one in my head sometimes when I was stupid enough or sleepy enough or drunk enough to entertain such a stupid notion. It's not something I particularly like to think about. I didn't want to think about it. Because everything would be different, probably devastatingly so. And it doesn't do anyone any good to think about what might've been. That's what alternate universes are for, only you can't live in them or really know what's going on in them because they're not at all accessible to you. I smiled back awkwardly, because that was really all I could do. "Lizzie never told me that," I told her, out of a need to say something.

Obviously Lizzie never told me, and Sylvia should've called me out on saying something so damn obvious, but by that point, we were both feeling kind of weird. Instead, she merely shook her head softly, a thin, kind of sad smile in place. "No, I don't suppose she would have," she said quietly. "Lizzie never knows what she has until it's gone," she said mysteriously, that same sad smile still on her lips. I'm sure she saw the confusion on my face, but she didn't say anything about it. And then she started to open the door, a sign that our little awkward conversation was over. "Goodnight, Edwin," she murmured, waving at me.

Just like that, it was all over. And then she was inside, casting a second glance back at me over her shoulder, and then she was gone from my sight, and I was standing there on her sidewalk, staring at her door like a moron. Freaking what-ifs! I shouldn't have asked her because now I've got all these questions to ask Lizzie, and I just am not in the position where I can ask her that. And, damn it, I had a good time, and I shouldn't feel so damn conflicted about this. I know, but I'm wondering about so many things, and now I have more questions than I started out with. So I went back to my car and headed home.

Sometimes, I like to go out to the roof to think. I don't do it often because the weather's usually bad, and it's dangerous. Nonetheless, it helps, sometimes, to get fresh, cool air. Looking over all the houses, looking up at the sky, it gives me some well-needed perspective. Sometimes I need that to get my head clear and to sort things out. I also go up there sometimes to look at the stars or enjoy the weather, especially when there are meteor showers. Lizzie wasn't home when I got home from my date, so I got my ladder and positioned it under my skylight. Then I climbed up the ladder, opened my skylight, and stepped out onto my roof. I cleared some of the snow away with my gloves and sat down, leaning my back against the wooden tiles next to the chimney. They were kind of uncomfortable underneath my back, but the cold precluded me from being out there long.

I wrapped the blanket around myself and gazed up at the stars, looking at their cold brilliance. The stars have been there practically since eternity, yet it fascinates me how they continue to amaze us. All the secrets of the universe are up there, buried in the stars, waiting to be discovered. I sighed, wondering where to begin gathering my thoughts, and just stared for a moment longer. Just as I was about to start unraveling an analyzing that night's events, I heard a noise on the rooftop. My head automatically jerked in the direction of my skylight, and I saw Lizzie stepping out of it and heading my way, holding a telescope. She struggled a little bit, not quite as used to this as I was, and made her way over to me. I held the corner of the blanket up and she slipped under it, scooting over to my side.

She was shivering in my arms, though whether that was from the cold or her distance from the ground I can only guess at. She moved closer to me, ostensibly for warmth, and we stared at the stars together in silence for a good moment. She held up the telescope in her hand, scanning the sky, and stopped, pointing at something in the distance. "What's that one? The red star?" she whispered, motioning towards a slightly red star and passing me the telescope.

I peered through it, gazing at the shape she'd named. Seeing it up closer, I was surprised Lizzie hadn't guessed at what it really was. I handed the telescope back to her and pointed to the star's position in the sky. "That one's Mars," I said quietly. If I knew anything about astrology, I might've said something about it. "You know, it's not really that red. The redness that you see mostly comes from iron oxide dust in its atmosphere," I told her, leaning over and beginning to point out to her what I could see of the polar ice caps and its dark regions.

Lizzie smiled at me lopsidedly and handed me back the telescope. I mentally thanked her for bringing it. I'd forgotten it downstairs and would have eventually had to go back down to fetch it. She snuggled up to my side, exhaling. A cloud of warm vapor, her breath, hung in the air and then dissipated like smoke. She gazed up at the stars as if bewitched, and I took in the sight of her in the moonlight, pale skin gleaming, cheeks faintly pink from the cold, eyes frostbite blue. The light and setting became her well, to say the least. I noticed then that she was inhaling short breaths, almost like she was having trouble breathing. I gave her a questioning look, and she smiled at me faintly, waving her hand at me, assuring me wordlessly that there was nothing wrong. "Astronomy leaves me breathless," she murmured, exhaling yet again.

I gave her a curious look, thinking that perhaps the cold was starting to get to her. "What do you mean?" I asked quietly, unsure why I felt like I had to whisper suddenly. Maybe it was that I didn't want to ruin the moment by speaking, or maybe it was the power of the night sky, the example of space's eternal silence. Lizzie looked over at me, smiling to herself, and then resumed staring at the stars with wide, intrigued eyes, silently cataloging every constellation. She laced her fingers with mine under the blanket, wrapping my arms around her without saying a word.

She shrugged almost disinterestedly, transfixed, staring at the bright, hot balls of plasma sparkling in the darkness. Oh, the wonders of fusion, of brilliant matter, that most elemental of processes! We wouldn't be here without it. I noticed that she was holding her breath and then releasing it slowly, like a hiss. Her face was a perfect expression of wonder, and I marveled at it, realizing for the first time that Lizzie was actually interested in the stars. I don't suppose I should be surprised, though, given her keen interests in nature, the environment, biology, animals, and physical science. Knowing this about her, it made me wish that I had shared more of this with her, that I'd taken her up here and showed her this private world of mine. It was almost too late now.

She was silent so long I didn't think she was going to say anything, but then she spoke. She spoke in a serene, quiet voice, never taking her eyes off of the stars. "It's just the... the vastness, the empty immensity of it all... space," she began, measuring her words. I saw the stars reflected in her bright, wide eyes, watched her scan the sky like a panoramic and take it all in. "And it's still expanding, faster and faster, pulsing with the breath of the universe," she mumbled rapidly, breathlessly, rapturously almost, letting herself get caught up in it. She pulled our fingers out from under the blanket and gestured up and around at the stars so far above our heads. "Those stars were there before you, before me, and they'll still be there after both of us are gone... the lifetimes they've seen... really makes you think about how _fleeting_ human life is, you know?" she said it in such a small little voice, and she suddenly sounded like she was millions of light-years away from me. Then she turned to face me and rasped, "It takes my _breath_ away." Then her eyes _twinkled_ at me like a newborn star. She pressed her forehead to mine for a moment, and I felt a sudden chill as we connected.

There was a desperation in her eyes, pleading with me to see it as she saw it, to understand. Her eyes appeared to be communicating some kind of deeper message with me, but it, like radio waves sent out into space, never reached a part of me that could listen, let alone interpret the message. Emotions are like a foreign language to me sometimes. But, looking into her eyes, there was a moment, a cold, frightening moment, where I felt it, what Lizzie had been trying to say all along. It was a terrifying, paralyzing moment, and it took my breath away just like she'd said.

I'd never thought of stars as she had. Of course I knew of their age and longevity, their brilliance and distance, but I never thought of them as omens of death, as warnings, as finality, cold and far away. I also knew of the greatness of universal time, of how massive it all was. I'd always seen them as life-sustainers. Their heat, light, and energy allows life to grow and continue; without it, there was nothing. Even the deaths of stars culminates in new life: matter. Gold, carbon, nitrogen... all of that was made in stars, in violent explosions and gravity drawing the pieces back together. That's what life is: violent, hot, beautiful, and _glorious_. Cooked in stars. We owe our very existence to those stars.

I regained my breath, squeezed her fingers warmly, and simply stared at her, awestruck. There's a lot more to Lizzie than even I know, I suspect. I kept staring at her in silent amazement, wondering how she managed to still surprise me, appreciating the depth of her comment, for endless minutes. Lizzie pulled back from me and made a face at me, slapping my arm. "_Hey_! Why are you smiling at me like that?" she exclaimed loudly, suspiciously, breaking the silence.

To be honest, I wasn't aware that I was smiling at her at all, but I felt my face, and sure enough, I was. I shrugged coolly and said, a bit smugly, "I've clearly been rubbing off on you, that's all." I threw her a sideways glance and a smirk for my own amusement, knowing exactly how she was going to react.

Lizzie gave me a skeptical, mildly offended look. "Oh, please! You think my..." she began, sounding fairly outraged. She stalled here for a moment, hunting for a word. "_Interest_... in astronomy comes completely from you?" She scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes, and looked at me. "Fine... I'm a girl, and I think stars are pretty. I like they way they sparkle. Like diamonds set in black velvet. It's all so romantic," she exclaimed dramatically in a high-pitched, overly girly voice, the one she used to mock ditzy girls. She threw me a dirty look that made me feel bad, because it seemed I'd inadvertently touched a nerve here. Nonetheless, that diamonds line was almost spot-on. "Is that what you expected me to say?" she spat.

I blinked, a little perplexed by this sudden turn of events. I realized a moment later that maybe what had really bothered Lizzie was the surprise, the fact that my comment had made it seem like Lizzie couldn't say deep and insightful things or be interested in things like the stars, that she couldn't do things on her own, without me. A lot of people, they look at Lizzie and make judgments. They compare her to Casey, or to me, or to her friends, and they expect her to be this... mindless sheep, or think she's exactly like whoever they're comparing her to. She gets judged like that on a superficial basis, and, I think it's because, for a large part, Lizzie doesn't open up and doesn't really make much of an effort to convince people that she's actually a real person, an intelligent person, beyond the looks, the boys, the popularity, and her natural athletic ability.

So I shrugged to diminish the power of the statement. "No..." I said slowly, truthfully. "I don't know what I expected you to say, actually." I looked over at her and saw the anger slowly abating. "But I think it's cool. That you get it, how I feel," I continued awkwardly, just talking to prevent a painful silence. I paused there even more awkwardly, thinking I was done, but Lizzie's questioning look made me hurry to keep talking. I was afraid I'd said something or confused her... My language had been vague, and I wasn't talking about my feelings for her or anything. "About the stars," I managed finally, clarifying the statement and feeling disturbingly relieved.

That still hadn't changed the fact that I'd basically stammered all of that and had sounded ridiculous. There was a brief, tenuous moment where she stared at me with an enigmatic look on her face, forcing me to wait it out. Then, to my relief, she laughed dryly and swiftly changed the subject. "Yeah, Ed, I'm not gonna lie... I kind of hate you for having a skylight," she admitted readily, starting to laugh at me because the effort of being serious was too much. Yet it was fundamentally still nervous laughter. She nudged me with her shoulder.

I gave her a mock glare in return. "And I kind of hate you for having a room that properly seals heat and doesn't leak during storms," I replied in kind. My room is rather inadequately insulated and leaks heat like a sieve as a result. Furthermore, the windows don't always close properly, and this wonderful skylight of mine leaks whenever it rains, so I have to put a tarp and buckets underneath it if I don't want to wipe out on my floor and get soaking wet first thing in the morning. I also have to do this because it can leak into the rest of the house, making Dad and whoever is living below the spout (Derek) very annoyed with me if I do not potentially take these precautions. When about half the time I'm rolling to avoid raindrops in my own bed.

Lizzie pulled a face at me, possibly at my mention of storms. She scoffed, shoving me playfully. "You know you love me," she retorted sassily, getting in my face. I slipped down the tiles a little bit at her shove, causing my stomach to flip, but I saw no need tell her about it, as it was only a few centimeters at the most.

I nodded and tried my best to smirk, finding her fingers under the blanket. She threw me a mildly surprised look but squeezed my hand warmly a moment later. "Yeah, yeah, I do," I said softly, nodding to emphasize the point. By this point, it had begun to snow lightly. Soft flurries were starting to land on us, touching our (relatively) hot skin and melting quickly. We were so caught up in our conversation that we'd barely noticed the change in the weather that hearkened back to the promised heavy flurries and potential hail to come later on that night.

She pouted, somewhat annoyed I was agreeing with her or that I hadn't responded with a sarcastic remark of my own. Sue me, but I didn't really feel like saying something smug or sarcastic for once. It happens. Nonetheless, she gazed at the stars, bringing our hands together in a sort of knot. "I think you should be an astrophysicist when you grow up. There's something so romantic about it, the universe," she declared impishly, a slow smile sliding across her lips. Her hands were cold on mine. There were a few snowflakes on her eyelashes and in her hair that further enhanced the already enchanting sparkle in her eyes.

I think I rolled my eyes at her, flicking one particularly large snowflake from her nose. She wrinkled her nose at me at first, rubbing it. A moment later Liz gave me a very grave look and sat up a little bit, turning suddenly serious and mystical again. Extricating her hand from mine, she made a sweeping gesture to the sky, leaning her head all the way back to look at it. The sudden motion caused the accumulating snowflakes to fall from her skin. "They're... magic. The secrets of the universe, that's mystical stuff... The whole universe is one big miracle," she whispered in a tone of sheer awe.

Then she looked at me, and I could kind of see her point. But I gave her a skeptical look nonetheless because I don't believe in magic (_obviously_ not, since I was once a magician!) or the occult or any form of supernatural phenomena, from ghosts to angels to vampires. You name it, and if there hasn't been any documented proof, I don't believe in it. I'm an empiricist. I need to see things, to hear them, to touch them, to test them... to know for sure. I need evidence before I believe in anything because I can't believe in things on faith alone. In some respects, though, I wish I was capable of that because it would make my life so much easier, and I guess you could say I'm kind of envious of Lizzie for that.

She rolled her eyes at me, obviously reading my answer correctly. "We should get back inside," she murmured, teeth chattering, shooting a worried glance at the cloudy sky. I nodded, brushing the snow from the blanket and my clothes, agreeing with her, and Lizzie started to get up. She slipped down, and I could see it, could see her falling, so I reached out, grabbing her and rolling my body over hers to stop her from slipping further. My fingers and toes clung to the tiles, and I laid there, completely on top of her, pressing her heavily to the shingles. I felt every inch of her body against mine, every breath, every ripple, saw the breathless, semi-paralyzed look on her face. I realized suddenly that it was an expression of fear, and I hadn't ever seen that look on her face.

For a moment, we were both breathless, staring at each other with red faces, feeling everything, feeling each other try to breathe. Lizzie exhaled shakily, one hand clutching my shirt, the other the shingles. I think we were both scared a little, since both of our chests were heaving in tandem. At that precise moment, the both of us became cognizant of our proximity and just how close our faces were, and Lizzie reddened further. The last time we were this close we were making out on my bed, and the reminder of that sparked a desire I thought I'd suppressed and forgotten. Activities that make your heart race (such as almost falling off the roof) mimic romantic emotions, and sweat releases pheromones, which amplify arousal and attraction, and given that smell is the one sensation that goes straight to your head... well, you can kind of see where all of this is heading.

Liz laughed nervously and pressed against my chest with both hands. Unsurprisingly, I didn't budge much, afraid that if I moved I would have to grab her hand and pull her up from the edge of the roof. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do that. She wiggled underneath me, trying to get out, and things became pre_dic_tably awkward. She frowned slightly, nudging me. "Uh, Edwin? Can you please get off of me?" she asked in a wheedling voice, gasping.

She wasn't looking me in the eyes, and I could feel the odd way she was trying to shift away from me. I was still trying to catch my breath, but I began to move. Lizzie pushed more insistently at my chest, causing me to dig my hands and heels in, worried I would lose my balance. "Ed, you're crushing me here. Maybe you can take _care _of things later?" she murmured, giving me a rather cagey, pressed look. I realized what she was referring to and was embarrassed, but I reminded myself that I'd been more humiliated in her presence. Unfortunately, it seems to come with the territory lately. I comforted myself with the fact that her too-thin clothing also failed to hide her reaction to the cold. Nonetheless, I slowly finished moving off of her, reaching over to grab my telescope and the blanket, turning into a more secure seated position.

"Still wound up from your date with Sylvia, eh?" Liz asked smartly, looking back at me over her shoulder. She was already in the middle of the roof, beginning to hoist herself through the skylight. She was smirking, of course, all of that embarrassment (for me) from earlier gone, like she was one of the guys. I blinked at her. Yeah, Liz, that really does not make it any less awkward for me. Nope, not one bit. My date with Sylvia hadn't done anything to "wind me up," but, then again, I wasn't pressed against her so I could feel every motion of her flesh either. Sylvia had nothing to do with my reaction, and Lizzie would be remiss to think she did. My date was over an hour ago. It was the third time she'd brought up Sylvia when I _hadn't _been thinking of her, and it left an unpleasant (guilty) feeling in my stomach.

I shrugged and started moving towards the skylight. Lizzie was busy finding footholds on the ladder, cautiously starting to step down into my bedroom, so she didn't see me rub the back of my neck and tug on the back of my shirt anxiously. She also didn't see the guilty-as-sin look on my face when I said, "Yeah, sure, let's go with that... Sylvia." I laughed nervously and she glanced up at me to give me a weird look. If she saw anything on my face (I'd hastily pulled up the old poker face, but the nervous, guilty smile that didn't meet my eyes could've easily given it away), she either didn't register it or else just ignored me.

"I'll hold the ladder for you!" she shouted up to me. I peered through the opening, hardly able to believe she'd climbed down so fast, but there she was, standing on the floor, legs apart, arms outstretched firmly holding the ladder in place. I nodded down at her and threw the blanket on the floor, then I held the telescope out for her to grab. She did this wordlessly, placing it on the table before returning to hold the ladder, and I began to lower myself through the opening, feet finding purchase on the first rung of the ladder. I stepped down one more, this time gripping the sides of the skylight. Then I stepped down yet another rung and no longer felt the chilly air.

There I stopped to close and securely refasten my skylight before continuing down the rest of the ladder. When my feet touched the ground, I thanked Lizzie and folded the ladder, setting it down in the storage corner of my room. Then I shook the snow from my shoulders and started removing my hat, coat, and gloves. Lizzie was still shivering, rubbing her crossed arms for warmth. I walked over to the couch, picking up the quilt that rested there, made of scraps of our family's old clothing when Casey went through her sewing phase. She would just quilt and knit when Sebastian was sleeping. Before Lizzie could protest, I wrapped the quilt securely around her shoulders.

She gave me a grateful smile and held the quilt around herself. Her lips were still chattering a bit too severely for her to talk, but I noticed the pallor of her skin and helped her to get to my bed. "You should've dressed better to come out, Lizzie," I scolded, as I was also chilled to the bone, and I'd been fully dressed. Liz made a half-hearted face at me and pulled me onto the bed with her. I kicked off my shoes and started to remove hers. She protested faintly, but I pulled the covers up over her before she could articulate anything. I tried to move over her to get to the other side of the bed, but with an impressive strength, she pulled me down on top of her.

We were both still shivering, and the parts of her skin I touched were cold like ice and wrapping themselves around me in an attempt to drain some of my warmth. I didn't quite understand, given that my body held even less warmth than hers, as I'd been outside longer and more recently, but there's something to be said for body heat. And then, suddenly, she spoke slowly, "How was your date with Sylvia?"

I froze entirely. "Good... It was... fine." I really did not want to have this conversation with her, much less now when I was sleepy, cold, and prone to say something I shouldn't. She gave me a skeptical look, and she was so close I couldn't avoid the convicting, guilting power of her stare. I didn't know what she wanted from me, but I didn't think she'd like to hear that it was great. Then again, I don't think she'd like to hear my underrated, unenthusiastic recount either because then she'd be worried that I'm not into Sylvia... and I know she's probably going to ask Sylvia, right?

When I said nothing, Lizzie sighed. I felt her breath on my face, and it reminded me of the many times that day that one of us had been on top of the other one. It was a rather unsatisfying memory because thinking about how turned on I was when Lizzie was on top of me is not a good idea. "Descriptive much, Ed? I mean, I've heard you go on more about George's cooking," she muttered, leaning into me a little more. Her nose brushed my neck, and suddenly, there was her face, maybe ten centimeters away from my face. I turned my head a little, neck finding the pillow, and we were staring into each other's eyes.

I shrugged, which was difficult to do with her on top of me. Her body shifted with mine. Her hands had come up to rest on my chest, and I felt the chill of them through the fabric of my shirt. "Well, what do you want me to say, Liz? I didn't think you'd want details... and why not just ask Sylvia?" I said in a pathetic attempt to stall. It came out nervous and defensive. Had we been a foot away from each other, I might have raised my voice, but it was out of the question with her so close. She was completely unavoidable.

Liz rolled her eyes, and I wished she would roll off of me. "Because I'm nosy, and Sylvia does not live in the same house as me. Now spill," she demanded. I shook my head and tried to gage just how badly she actually wanted to know. She'd been acting funny ever since she got out of the Chem final. I wondered briefly if something had happened in there. The period after I'd finished the test and had gone to see Paul was the only time we'd been apart for hours (practically days, if I'm being honest, given how long we were holed up studying in her bedroom)... up until my date with Sylvia. That led me to wonder what she'd done when I was gone. Everyone would be coming home soon, and then stolen moments alone like these would be few and far between.

"Were you or were you not the one who said me dating Sylvia made you uncomfortable?" I countered swiftly, throwing her a look of my own. Lizzie rolled her eyes and muttered that it didn't mean she didn't want to know. I frowned at her. "Why do you all of a sudden want to know, Lizzie? For so many years you just told me to forget about it. To forget about her. But now that it's finally happening, you care?" I asked, raising my voice a little, irritation showing through. The words were dangerous because I was inching closer to asking her other questions... questions that would only lead to trouble.

Liz scowled at me and smacked me lightly in the chest. "Why would I not want to know, Ed? My two best friends are dating each other, and you think I'm not gonna ask any questions? I _care_ about the both of you, and I just wanna know how it went... if you liked it... what you did... I just want to see you both happy," she managed somewhat awkwardly. I threw her a skeptical glance, not fully trusting or believing her words, and we fell into an uncomfortable silence. I wanted Lizzie off of me, so I could stare up at my skylight, needing a measure of distance from her.

Then it occurred to me: when did I start not trusting Lizzie? The minute that thought occurred to me, I felt like a total asshole, a disloyal, distrusting bastard. Had Lizzie ever truly given me a good reason not to trust her completely? She is the _one _person in my life who has always been there for me for the past eight years, and isn't that more than I could've ever asked anyone else? She gets me and accepts me for who I am with no questions, reservations, and judgment, and I'm ungrateful enough to question her motives after everything she's done for me? She's the _one_ person I can count on, the one person I know who will always be there for me. But lately there's been this distance between us, and I can feel it growing, feel the flow of the river eroding the rock of our foundation... until it becomes a canyon or a gorge or something so... broken.

I sighed. The rippling movement made Lizzie shudder (not unpleasantly). Growing increasingly uncomfortable with her on top of me, I placed my hands lightly on her waist and pushed her over onto the bed next to me, carefully disentangling our limbs. I turned to look at her. "Honestly, Lizzie, it's just not something I'm very comfortable talking about," I said quietly. "I had a good time, and I think Sylvia had a good time too... I'm happy, I guess." I told Lizzie that and tried to force a smile, but that forced me to think about how happy I really was... or wasn't, rather.

Her shoulder brushed against mine, a small smile on her lips. "We don't have to talk. That's okay," she murmured, lacing her fingers with mine. I felt guilty for lying to her, for faking that smile. It was our last night in the house alone, the last night of peace before Casey or Derek or someone else showed up and made everything so much more complicated. Lizzie exhaled, staring up at the ceiling with me. "So what do you think it'll be like with both of them in the house?" she whispered, breathless.

I shrugged. I'd thought about it a lot since I found out they were both coming, and I still had no idea. I'd gone over every possibility I could think up, but all I came up with was that it would be a Christmas to remember. Everything could be calm and boring, or Casey could set the house on fire accidentally, or Derek could spike the punch and cause Aunt Belinda's wayward daughter, Agnes, to start hitting on my dad again. There were too many unpredictable variables to ascertain what would happen with any measure of certainty, other than that there would inevitably be some conflict, probably a fight, a whole lot of drama, the lingering awkwardness and tension between them, and some kind of meltdown. Anything was possible. "I.. I don't know," I told her hesitantly. "With the two of them under one roof, I wouldn't rule anything out."

Lizzie snorted and squeezed my hand, no doubt somewhat horrified at the thoughts flitting through her mind. "What do you think the big disaster is gonna be this time? My money's on Derek and Casey getting in some sort of physical altercation and knocking over the Christmas tree. Oh, and Aunt Fiona and Uncle Harry will have another one of their infamous fights, and she'll be crying in the basement... My mom will try to no avail to comfort her, only managing to stress herself out, and Aunt Belinda will no doubt be roped into it," she predicted, throwing me a playful look.

I smirked, agreeing with her completely. "I agree, but I see Sebastian in the hospital because he's either sick or broken something. Dad and Uncle Robbie will be pretending to get along, but they'll really be trying to one-up each other... he'll be throwing his money around like always. And ten bucks says Vicky or one of your family members will try to hit on Derek," I pronounced. I didn't want to say that her great aunt would have a mental breakdown or that Derek would be "welcoming" Noel to the family with a territorial pissing contest.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and smirked, shaking my hand. "I'll take that bet. Though it'll be Great Aunt Moira, you know. It wouldn't surprise me if she hit on you. She's always shopping for her next husband," she quipped, mildly amused, throwing me a playful glance. "You know, I can't really remember your uncle... and you don't really talk about all of them... what are they like?" she asked curiously. Lizzie hadn't seen my uncle since the wedding. Dad and Uncle Robbie have a fairly rocky relationship at best, kind of exactly like me and Derek, and Uncle Robbie only stops in when he's in town for business for a few hours at most.

Similarly, I hadn't seen any of Nora's family, excepting her mother, Aunt Fiona, Uncle Harry, and Vicky, since the wedding, and most of them hadn't been there, as their side is fairly large. It had been so long ago that it was no surprise that either of us really remembered them, given how young we'd been and how we hadn't really met them. I shrugged, putting my arm under my head. "Well, Uncle Robbie is this big shot in Winnipeg, right? And Dad was like, the _man_, growing up, so he was kind of a jerk to him. Uncle Robbie never really got over that, and he and Dad don't really talk. Uncle Robbie's competitive, a bit of a show-off, and pretty boring, actually, but he always brings us really expensive presents. He's got three sons, Lucas, Robbie Junior, and Matt... Robbie's my age and obnoxious as hell, always bragging about everything... he thinks the world revolves around him. Lucas is a year younger than Derek and pretty chill, decent, even. And Matt... he's a year older than Marti and kind of annoying," I summarized.

Lizzie snorted. "Well, your family wins for annoying, but I think we've got the crazy down." Thinking of Casey, I nodded. Thinking back to all of Nora's family I'd met, from vicious Vicky to the histrionic Fiona to furious Felicia to high-strung, easily-excitable Nora, only confirmed it. They were a hormonal, dramatic, excitable, neurotic lot, and all of that at the same time! Then again, maybe that's the girl thing. I've never met a man from that family, and there's probably a reason for that aside from the fact that their grandpa moved to another country.

"Well, of course you do. You're a bunch of girls," I retorted smugly. Lizzie gasped and turned to whack me on the shoulder. I just snorted because it was totally something Casey would've done... To be honest, I might not act like it, but Casey is my sister, and I kind of do miss having her around. The house is so much... quieter and less dramatic without her around. Lizzie surprised me then by pushing my arm up, wrapping it around her, and curling completely into my side. I stroked her arm absently, thinking back to the question she'd asked earlier. "Something tells me it's gonna be one hell of a holiday... so we'd better be prepared for anything," I mumbled. I felt Lizzie nod and craned my head down so I could press a kiss to her hair. The exhaustion I'd felt earlier hit me suddenly, and I pulled the covers up over me a little more. "Now get some rest, Liz. See you in the morning," I murmured drowsily, tightening my grip on her and closing my eyes.

Little did I know that would be my last pure, simple moment of peace and happiness until graduation. If I had, I might've stayed awake to savor it, but as it was, I fell asleep within moments, taking it for granted.

Loren ;*

So, which of those predictions do you reckon'll come true? Some of them will, by the way. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I apologize in advance for the next chapter, since it's filler and sort of weird. But I still kind of tried to make it interesting. Basically Derek comes home and preparation is done for Casey's arrival, and Jamie pops up. The one after it will be the anticipated one, though, because Casey's finally going to show up.

Oh, and I do happen to like reviews, just for those of you who have the extra five minutes!


	19. Accelerant

Firstly, I feel bad 'cause this chapter is kind of fillery and accordingly kind of random. But it was sort of necessary, I suppose, because they talk about where everyone'll be sleeping and some of the guests and get ready for Casey to show up. And there's a surprise and a bit of amusement with Jamie. In the next chapter, you get to see Derek and Casey's first face-to-face in more or less four years, a pinch of Noel, a dash of Icky Vicky, and meet a mystery girl who has some history with Edwin. And of course there's a lot of drama.

Okay, so I feel like I have said this before about Lizzie somewhere, probably in a review or author's note I don't remember, but I feel like it's something I need to clarify. Lizzie is not a bitch. And, on the same note, Edwin's not a saint. What he really is is a bit of a long-suffering bastard. ;) No, Ed's a good guy, but he's not a saint. Anyway, back to Lizzie... I feel like I should explain since so many people read this story and get the impression that Lizzie is a bitch. Firstly, since this story is in Edwin's point of view, you only get to see his side of things. You don't get to see what Lizzie's thinking or what her motives are. Also, no matter how hard Edwin tries to be objective, when it comes to his own life, he's obviously more than a bit biased. And, again, how reliable is Edwin as a narrator, my friends? Aside from that, I feel that, in order to be a bitch, you have to be intentionally malicious. Anything Lizzie does that's mean, however, is either unintentional or said in anger or jest, or done when she was drunk or sleepy and not in her right mind. And Edwin doesn't really complain, so how's Lizzie supposed to know when she's crossed the line? Also, keep in mind the peculiar relationship between Lizzie and Edwin. The relationship is peculiar in that it's more like three relationships in one: there's the brother-sister relationship, then there's the best-friends relationship, and then there's the partnership, and then there's that sort of experimentation that superimposed itself over everything. So a lot of the bickering and rivalry as well as the fighting comes from the brother-sister relationship, and the banter and teasing and confiding in each other and trust comes from the best-friends relationship, and the working together and team perspective comes from their partnership.

Also, so I'm kind of bad with timelines. More or less no matter how hard I try to iron them out. Like at one point I said Truman and Casey have been broken up for three years, but that's not exactly true or possible, unless they broke up impossibly early or very soon after they were engaged or whatever, or Casey's in her fifth year of college, which is also fairly... unlikely. Also, Casey's past three Christmases. I had one too many, actually, again unless they're graduating in five years. So you could just try and merge the crying-over-Truman one and being with Dennis. Which would mean she and Truman haven't been broken up that long at all and so on and so forth. So, augh. Basically, let's say that she and Truman broke up either sometime late in Casey's Sophomore Year or early in her Junior year or sometime in the intervening summer. Which makes it like, two or one year or something like that. Whatever. Stupid time. Not important.

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**Accelerant:** 1. A catalyst which speeds up a chemical reaction by disturbing or changing chemical bonds, returning substances to homeostasis, or otherwise disturbing the process. 2. A highly flammable fuel substance that increases the spread, speed, size, and heat of a fire.

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The first sensation I had upon waking was the faint, familiar aroma of Lizzie's perfume, then the scent of her skin, and then... that I had a crick in my neck. I opened my eyes slowly and was somewhat surprised to find myself so close to her. The tip of my nose rested on the soft spot in her neck, the bridge rested against her jawbone, and the side of my upturned lips brushed against that place on her throat that had always, without fail, made Lizzie moan. I shifted my head a little bit, to make myself more comfortable, but, quite honestly, I didn't want to move. I was still sleepy, and Lizzie was warm, familiar, and comfortable.

I pulled back a little and regarded her for a moment, taking advantage of the rare chance to study her unmolested. Whenever someone caught me looking at Lizzie, they always made some ridiculously inappropriate sexual comment or, if they were a friend, asked me some mildly offensive question. And Lizzie, whenever she caught me, just made a face, smirked, or rolled her eyes. She was obviously dead asleep, mouth slightly open, cheek resting lightly against mine, turned towards the ceiling. Asleep, she was two things she was never while conscious: still and at peace. I watched her chest rise and fall and felt her breath rush past my ear, setting every my hair on end.

It took me a few more moments to realize just how we were positioned, both sleeping more or less on ours sides facing each other. We were sleeping on the same pillow with her head positioned slightly higher than mine. One of my arms was splayed above my head, while the other wrapped around her waist and pressed into the middle of her back, keeping her close to me. One of her arms draped around my neck, fingers resting on the nape of my neck. The other arm was bunched up between us, bracing her with a palm on my chest, more or less directly above my heart. It was a jolt to realize all of that (and another jolt still when I realized it didn't feel _weird _or_ awkward_ at all), but then I noticed that her legs tangled with mine, overlapping them, twining together with a sort of innocent intimacy. I didn't want to wake her, but I wasn't as comfortable as I had been previously.

Then, I watched as her eyelids slowly fluttered open. She blinked and looked straight at me, smiling lazily. "Hi," she whispered sleepily, yawning unashamedly, causing my nose to slip further down her throat. She froze when my lips accidentally grazed that spot on her neck.

I pulled back a little and smiled. "Hi," I mumbled back, waving at her with my free hand. Her smile widened, and she bent down to press her lips against mine cheerfully. I don't think she half knew what she was doing, since she'd just woken up, and it wasn't the first time she'd kissed me good morning. She pulled away a moment later, still smiling, and wished me a good morning. I said the same thing, not quite sure what to do, since my hands were still all over her.

She was so close still that I could feel her breath, feel the heat radiating off of her. She was all around me, so close, that I caught the smell of her, the essence of her slowly rising off of her skin. And, inexplicably, I wanted to taste her. It wasn't really a conscious thought, but there was all of this glorious skin presented before me, so close and warm and soft, the pretty picture she made there, reclining in my bed with messy hair and wide blue eyes staring back at me, and the way her body wrapped around me so invitingly, and that subtle scent taunting me, and I was still confused from waking. It all mingled together in my head with a cloud of dreams and hazy memories and desire. So I found myself looking her in the eyes and stretching forward slowly, shifting some of my weight onto the hand that wasn't pressing into her back. I _fully_ intended to kiss her, and she probably would have let me...

Had our little sister not interrupted, bounding into the room like she used to on Christmas back when we were little. "Careful with that good morning kiss there, kids. Don't want Ed to get morning wood in front of _two _of his sisters, after all!" Marti practically shouted, making her presence known and making a beeline for the bed. I'm fairly sure I turned some variety of cinnabar and cringed, turning away from Lizzie and burying my face in the pillow in embarrassment. I felt rather than saw Marti come over and peer down at us, asking mockingly, "Aww, that's so cute... are you cuddling? I would've never thought my brother was that type." I looked up and threw her a nasty scowl.

I chanced a sideways glance at Lizzie, who was a pale, pale pink (like quartz, really) that was barely noticeable. I'd seen her more flushed from a barely intense soccer game. "Marti!" Lizzie half-squealed, half-shouted, sounding a bit outraged, shooting Marti a serious, reproachful look. She moved quickly to pull away from me, but I decided to screw with Marti a bit and pressed my pelvis against Lizzie's. Lizzie's mouth opened in a ghost of a gasp, but no sound came out of her lips. She merely pushed me back, instinctively, scowling at me, and I smirked at Marti, who looked horrified and disgusted.

What really surprised me was that Lizzie hadn't made a single comment about what Marti had said, not a joke, not a denial. So I snorted and took up the reins of deflating the question, shrugging nonchalantly and pushing my back up against the headboard. "I don't know why you sound so scandalized, Lizzie. She's grown up with two brothers... I mean, you're just lucky you weren't around here when Derek was taking care of all of us, and Marti went through her F-word phase. She was two, and every sentence had "no" _and_ the f-word in it," I replied easily, as if the situation wasn't horribly awkward and vaguely embarrassing, as if Marti hadn't walked in on anything at all.

Marti threw me a quizzical look, obviously not remembering. I yawned, stretching properly, wiggling my toes. Parts of me had fallen asleep in that position, and I was waiting for that pesky dead weight ticklish needles-and-pins feeling to go away. Lizzie looked at me with wide eyes, but I just shrugged. Derek started looking after us when Abby left because Dad was too mopey and depressed to do much of anything for a while. He made us meals, took us to school, even learned how to do laundry and all that. It's weird to remember that Derek did that now, but he can be disturbingly responsible when he wants to be. Anyway, that first year was a hard one, so Derek swore a lot, and Marti just picked up the word. We got in a little trouble, actually, because social worker types were concerned that Marti knew that word at such a young age.

That's why Derek ran the house, you know; it's not just his dominant personality. Derek ran the house for so long because he had to manipulate Dad into doing a lot of things, and for a long time, he was more of a father than our actual dad. I mean, for instance, Dad never would've started dating again if Derek hadn't sent him out to speed-dating parties, signed him up for dating websites, and set up blind dates with random people.

"So, Marti, what brings you here?" I asked, clearing my throat and leaning back onto my elbows and trying to decide whether or not I ought to sit up properly. Since I'd fallen asleep in my clothes I had that uncomfortable, vaguely disgusting feeling, and I tried to pull my clothes straight so they fell more comfortably on me. I think it was worse because I had been dressed fairly heavily for the weather.

Marti wrinkled her nose at me and flopped down on the bed next to Lizzie. She was wearing a bright blue jumper and rainbow striped tights, which made her look like a child, for a change. "Dad sent me. We've got a family meeting downstairs to discuss sleeping arrangements for the festivities," she said, rolling her eyes. She frowned, resting her head on Lizzie's side. Lizzie turned a little bit towards Marti and wrapped an arm around her. "And I think Mom said something about Casey doing some kind of conference call to talk about what she's planning," Marti added a minute later, letting out a mildly annoyed sigh. Marti hated plans, had always hated them, and the bigger they were, the more she disliked them and took a kind of perverse glee in upsetting them. In that respect, she's rather like Derek, although my brother always has been and always will be a plotter, no matter how effortless he tries to make his scheming look.

I wasn't exactly thrilled with all of this either, but I shrugged. "Might as well go down now and get this over with as soon as possible," I muttered, shooting Lizzie a glance. To be honest, all I really wanted to do was relax and watch a movie with Lizzie, but family comes first, right? I turned and started to get up, rolling my shoulders and trying to get some of the wrinkles out of my clothes. Lizzie made some sort of noise and attempted to hide under my pillows, but Marti and I both jumped back on the bed and pulled her out, kicking and laughing hysterically because we'd started tickling her. By the end of the "fight", we were all in a pile on the floor, laughing like hyenas. Eventually, though, I pulled all of us up, and we headed downstairs in single-file, rather like we were headed to our execution.

Now, I should begin by saying that Nora is actually an organized person. She kind of always had to be, both with her job and raising so many kids, though my father has sort of eroded that tendency. So it kind of surprised me when I came downstairs, and was greeted by the sight of Nora and my dad standing with military precision on either side of a large floorplan of our house, obviously drawn by Nora. The last time I had seen that large white notepad had been a failed game of Pictionary two years ago when they had that quickly-aborted scheme of having a Family Game Night every Wednesday. I remembered it from even earlier when Lizzie and I had our first birthday party together and it had been filled with different party ideas, and the thought made me smile faintly in an uncharacteristic fit of nostalgia.

They motioned for us to sit on the couch, and we did so. Dad glanced at Nora, who took this as her cue to begin the presentation. She actually had one of those little pointer things in her hand (obviously _this_ is where Casey gets it from). Nora licked her lips and started speaking. "Well, as you know we're having our biggest family get-together yet this year, and the house is going to be pretty full up... so we need to talk about sleeping arrangements." At this, she turned and began to gesture towards the map of our house.

Nora began to point out every piece of furniture in the house that could be slept on. "Now, this is what we have to work with." I yawned quietly, bored. We were all aware of how many beds and couches our house had. In the basement there were Dad and Nora's double bed, Sebastian's bed, and a sofa-bed. On this floor there was the couch. Upstairs there were Derek's bed, Casey's queen, Lizzie's bed, and Marti's bed. Then in the attic, there was my double bed, the sofa-bed in the corner, several sleeping bags, and the cot.

She exhaled softly and looked at all of us. "Now, fortunately our extended family is too large to all be housed here, but we do have to find beds for certain people. Great Aunt Madge and Grandma Felicia are both coming to stay with us, as are Cousin Vicky and her boyfriend." Nora had refused to house Uncle Harry and Aunt Fiona for the sake of her sanity, and Derek had generously agreed to let them stay in his apartment if they followed his rules and chipped in a bit for the rent (naturally). It did, however, surprise me, that she'd agreed to house Vicky and her boyfriend. I wondered idly if Casey knew this and imagined for a moment the drama our cousin living with us for a week could cause. "And, then, of course, Derek will be staying in his old room, and, as you know, Casey's bringing Noel this year," she continued, not quite able to bring herself to say "fiancé" just yet.

I know it would be odd to expect an engaged couple to stay apart, but Noel's family did live in town, and I wondered why he couldn't stay with them. Nora cleared her throat and began to actually talk sleeping arrangements. "Now, let me just start by saying that some of you may have to give up your rooms to house our guests. I'm sorry about this, but we will find alternative arrangements for you," she said apologetically. She sounded a bit like someone at a hotel informing people that their rooms were already occupied. "Now, we've decided it will be best to have my mother sleep on the sofa-bed downstairs with us and Sebastian. Marti, Aunt Madge will sleep in your room," she announced.

Marti frowned and immediately began to protest in a way that might've worked several years earlier, but this whole thing had Nora so stressed out that she didn't have the patience to give in. Nora ignored her, and Dad walked over and tried to soothe Marti, who was having none of it. Nora continued to speak, "Vicky's boyfriend will be sleeping down here on the couch. Derek will have his room, of course, and Casey and Noel will take her room. As for Vicky, I think it would be best if she'd have Lizzie's room... sorry honey." Her eyes softened, gazing at Lizzie, who shrugged impassively. I was actually surprised no one had kicked me out of my room, but I suppose the attic is hardly a good place to house guests.

Nora sighed and looked at all of us. Now there was the matter of what to do with Lizzie and Marti. I could tell she was about to suggest Lizzie and Marti take my bed and that I should sleep on the sofa-bed, which I wouldn't have minded too much. She had even opened her mouth to speak, but Lizzie surprised me by offering a suggestion of her own. "You know, I can just bunk with Edwin," she announced. Nora's mouth fell open a bit, surprised, and I suddenly felt everyone's eyes on me. I had _not _been expecting that, much less for her to suggest that in front of our entire family. Marti, for her part, snorted loudly and muttered something that caused me to accidentally elbow her in the side. "It's no big deal, really... I fall asleep in his room all the time, and I know Marti likes to have her own space. She can take the sofa bed," Lizzie continued with a shrug.

This was true, and Marti doubtlessly would have protested having to sleep with Lizzie in my bed on grounds of me having cooties or something like that. At that very moment, in fact, she threw me a disgusted look, like she didn't want to even be in the same room with me and Lizzie. It was a bit insulting, really, that my little sister thought that I would do anything sexual with her _in_ the room, much less with my **other** sister. "But I don't want to sleep up in that drafty attic with the both of them. It smells funny up there, and the roof is always leaking. I am _**not**_ going to sleep in my brother's smelly old bedroom," she complained. What Marti had said was true, actually, but my sofa-bed was actually very nice, nicer even than the one in the basement.

Nora sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, the beginnings of a migraine no doubt starting to form. "Well, you can't sleep with your cousin. So you can either sleep in that sofa-bed, with your sister in Edwin's bed, or take the cot and put it in Aunt Madge's room," she muttered vaguely irritably.

Marti pooh-poohed all of these options, naturally. "You know what, fine! I'll just take the stupid cot and put it in Derek's room!" she exclaimed loudly. "I know _he'll_ let me sleep where I want," she said peevishly, crossing her arms over her chest. I found this somewhat ironic, given her earlier proclamation, but Derek would no doubt agree, as he'd never been able to refuse Marti anything. Nora nodded, seeming to accept that, and turned to Lizzie.

"Well then, Lizzie, it seems like you have a choice. You can either sleep in Edwin's bed or on the sofa-bed," she announced, looking a bit more relieved. The look Lizzie gave me assured me that she would be sleeping in my bed, with me. While Mom and Dad had been surprised at her suggestion at first, they oddly hadn't voiced any objections. They'd known that Lizzie and I used to sleep in each other's beds when we were younger, and they'd walked in on us sleeping in the same bed (generally Lizzie's) several times recently. Apparently they _still_ didn't see anything unusual with it, although, really, there is a certain age when it becomes unacceptable for brother and sister to sleep together in the same bed, even on family vacations. Generally this age is puberty, but I suppose our sibling relationship has always been rather... special.

Lizzie shrugged, and that part of the meeting was over. Then Casey called at precisely ten. She was immediately put on speakerphone, cheerily wishing us good morning and telling us how glad she was to be seeing us all tomorrow. We greeted her rather unenthusiastically. Nora flipped the giant notepad to another page in preparation for Casey's list of plans for the reunion and holidays themselves and all the things that needed to be done in preparation. The plans included elaborate feasts, silly games, music to be played, decorations to be hung up in certain ways, presents to purchase, Christmas caroling as a family, excursions out around London, numerous shopping trips, and even a visit to church on Christmas Eve in the delusion that we were a church-going family (although apparently this was suggested in order to please Felicia). It was mostly a lot of things that probably wouldn't work out, sounded stupid, or would doubtlessly be made more exciting by Derek ruining the aforementioned plans.

The whole time we'd been meeting, I had been very aware of the fact that Derek was not here and that he should be. Casey didn't mention him at all in the phone call, which was odd but kind of typical in terms of recent behavior. I knew he was back at his place, cleaning up and preparing it for Uncle Harry and Aunt Fiona's arrival in two days. He had also been watching Sebastian for the night, who was doubtlessly complicating the process. However, I wouldn't exactly be surprised if Derek and Sebastian wound up someplace fun instead, like the playground, gym, or, most likely, Chuck E. Cheese's.

I looked at the list, which was ridiculously long. Casey had taken some of the insanity out of it by saying that she and Noel would be driving down tomorrow afternoon to supervise and help out, but that still meant there was a lot of work ahead for the rest of us. The Christmas tree had already been up and decorated for a week or so, but Casey would doubtlessly find it not near perfect enough. It was a fake tree, of course, and the ornaments were oftentimes lopsided and homemade, hung precariously on the edges of branches. I also knew that Casey thought tinsel was tacky and that she'd insisted on threading garlands of popcorn and wanted lights and a star on the tree.

As a result of this comparatively brief call, Nora sighed and began to dole out the work. She sent Dad to fetch and detangle the Christmas lights, a task which would no doubt require her attention, as Dad could easily break something with his fumbling fingers. Nora's job was to tidy up the house and clean up the place, a tireless task that would require vacuuming, dusting, furniture polishing, cleaning the windows and the bathrooms, and, quite possibly, mopping or waxing the floors. She recruited Marti to thread the garland and went to pop popcorn while Marti got the needle and fishing wire this task required. She sent me and Lizzie out to buy groceries and some things Casey had asked for, including mistletoe. We did this after stripping Derek, Lizzie, and Casey's beds, throwing the sheets in the washer, and putting new sheets on the beds and making them up again. After the shopping trip, I was to go outside and start hanging up the Christmas lights with Lizzie holding the ladder to make sure I didn't die in the process.

None of us were particularly happy with this, but we all had our assigned roles to fill. At the grocery store, Lizzie and I separated. I went to buy the more basic groceries, whereas Lizzie went off to find some of the more complicated items. It was all mind-numbingly boring, especially since I just wanted to go back to bed and forget that my stupid family was ever coming to visit. When Lizzie and I met up again, she was grumbling about why Casey wanted so many different kinds of exotic foods and products and muttering about how expensive it was going to be and how bad it all was for the planet (since I hadn't gone to the even _more_ expensive and, in my opinion, rather worthless, organic food store). It was expensive, too, but we were, more or less, feeding a small army of family.

When we got home, Lizzie took care of hanging up the mistletoe in places high enough that Sebastian could never reach them. Since I was busy, I didn't at the time notice where she'd hung the two sprigs Casey had requested. She did this while I helped Dad detangle the lights and took them outside. Then she came out and helped me set up the ladder. It was odd to think that the last time I'd helped set up this ladder, Derek had been hanging off the roof on the gutter. Hanging up the lights was pretty hard, but Lizzie helped me out a lot. And, more than anything, I trusted her and appreciated the firmness of her grip on the ladder's base, holding me steady.

After this, I was tasked with the extremely masculine task of dusting while Lizzie was charged with polishing the furniture. Marti had accepted Nora's offer of vacuuming, since it was comparatively less labor-intensive and got her out of cleaning the bathroom. Plus, Marti could do a quick job of it, and no one would really notice. Which is exactly what she did. Just shy of forty-five minutes later, she was skipping out of the house and next door to play video games with Dimi.

Lizzie and I made a good team. One of us would pick up, move, and hold the objects while the other one did their job, and then one of us would set the objects back in their rightful places. It wouldn't have been any fun at all if I hadn't been with Lizzie, but she made it into a bearable sort of game. I could always have fun with Lizzie, after all. Plus I think we might've both gotten kind a little high off of those awful lemon-scented furniture polish fumes. Anyway, we'd finished the first floor and moved up to the second. We didn't have to clean Casey or Derek's room, so we'd wound up with Lizzie's room as our last stop on the cleaning tour.

She was a pit preoccupied tidying up her room and speculating about Vicky's boyfriend. She glanced up at me in the midst of stuffing some of her schoolbooks in her backpack. I was dusting awkwardly, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with touching Lizzie's things, somewhat worried I'd upset the massive pile of papers on her desk. Lizzie snorted at the sight of me waving the rag so timidly. "You know why they put Vicky in my room, don't you?" I told her it was because Marti's bed was probably a little small for a woman like Vicky, but Lizzie shook her head, frowning. "They put Vicky in my bed because they're afraid she's going to have sex with her boyfriend while she's here, and they'd rather she have sex in my bed than Marti's, okay?" she muttered vaguely irritably, a look of understandable distaste on her face.

I frowned, confused. Lizzie had always liked Vicky more than I'd ever personally thought she deserved. Then I wondered what exactly was the etiquette on having sex in your parents' house when you're grown, or, for that matter, in someone else's house when you're a guest. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to have sex in other peoples' houses, but I don't think this is something anyone ever talks about because it's awkward, invasive, and they really just hope it's understood. I wonder if it's different when you're family, though? I mean, it didn't seem entirely reasonable, for instance, to expect an engaged couple to share a room and not have sex... although I somehow doubted Casey would be at all comfortable with having sex in this house in her old bedroom. She'd probably be paranoid that someone would hear and embarrassed at the possibility, and very likely too on edge to even contemplate it, what with Derek in the next room and Vicky across the hall and all.

Liz shuddered at the thought, and it occurred to me suddenly that maybe that wasn't the only thing that bothered her about Vicky staying in her room. As I looked at her, the more true it seemed to be, and I stifled a groan. "It isn't just because you're worried she'll have sex with her boyfriend in your bed, is it?" Lizzie turned and gave me a quizzical look, and I threw her a skeptical glance in return, striding past her to dust her bookshelf. "What you're _really_ worried about is the fact that Derek's going to be just across the hallway, and they have a history," I told her over my shoulder. The way she paled at my words told me all I needed to know.

She crossed her arms over her chest almost tremulously and said, with as much attitude as she could muster, "Well, it's hardly a good idea, putting her across the hallway from him. I don't know why the possibility didn't occur to Mom and Dad." Probably because Vicky's here with her boyfriend? She went over to her desk to tidy the papers into a neater pile, needing to do something with her hands. I couldn't really fault Lizzie for this worry, because it was certainly a founded one. I'd been the one, after all, who'd gotten videotape of them kissing after the wedding. God knows what else Derek got up to with her, after all... I mean, she was sitting on the laundry machine! To this day, they still flirted whenever they were in the same room, although I could always tell Derek was returning her flirtations mostly for show, and that he was really brushing her off by not taking her seriously at all. But, well, who knew what was going to happen now, with her just a few feet away and resembling Casey so very strongly?

I couldn't say anything to reassure Lizzie because I couldn't say for sure that there was nothing there. Lizzie turned around, gazing around her room and pouting a little. "I should probably take some stuff upstairs, shouldn't I? So I don't have to come back down here and hunt through my closet?" she questioned, looking at me briefly and giving her open closet a forlorn glance. I shrugged, and Lizzie rolled her eyes and headed over to her closet. I went back to dusting her bookcase, frowning when I saw her truly horrible taste in literature. For Sakharov's sake, has she bought a book since Junior High? What an eclectic mess this is: Silent Spring next to Babysitters' Club, trashy romance novels next to atlases and books on animals and the rainforests, PETA tracts (ugh) next to books on soccer and martial arts, Girl Scout handbook and camping and survival guides next to old copies of Cosmopolitan and Elle and romcom DVDs.

Liz huffed out a sigh, and suddenly she was at my side, grabbing my arm with an almost inhuman force and dragging me towards her closet. I blinked and threw her a confused look. "C'mon, Ed, you're going to help me pick out clothes to wear when Derek's here. He'll be here with Sebastian any second," she practically demanded, flipping through her clothes and showing me shirt after shirt, skirt after skirt. They all looked the same to me. I rolled my eyes at her and feebly tried to protest, as the thought of her prancing around in those clothes for my brother, quite frankly, made me feel sick to my stomach.

"This is a _family_ gathering, Liz. As in our entire extended family will be around for the majority of this week, meaning that they will wonder why you are tarted up... and do you really want them to think you're trying to hook up with our cousins?" I reminded her firmly, perhaps a bit too firmly. Lizzie turned and scowled at me, interjecting that only two of her cousins were boys, and pointing out smartly that they wouldn't be here for at least two days, and it wasn't as if she was living with my male cousins anyway. I sighed wearily. "Lizzie, do you seriously think Casey will be cool with this, with you dressing..." I faltered for a moment, trying to find a nice, nonjudgmental word. "...Uh, provocatively? I'm sure you in a miniskirt doesn't exactly go with her family-friendly version of Deck the Halls."

Lizzie frowned, holding out a rather festive plaid miniskirt. "Well, I don't care what Casey has to say about how I dress. And besides, she's not here right now, now is she?" she said breezily, as if the thought didn't trouble her at all. I barely restrained myself from countering that Casey would hardly approve of this ill-advised pursuit of Derek and that she might have ulterior motives (motives besides her desire for a happy, drama-free holiday) for discouraging Lizzie from this pursuit. "And she's like the Stalin of Christmas... Besides, if _Marti _can do it, and she's thirteen, why can't I?" she remarked a bit whiningly, sounding very much like Marti, actually, as she pushed her pajama pants down and kicked them off. I stared for a moment, surprised that she hadn't warned me, and then, realizing what I was doing, I turned away, embarrassed.

She was wearing green underwear. I hate that I know that, and that it's both Derek's and my favorite color, and I'm wondering if that was intentional. Lizzie glanced over at me and chuckled. I heard the skirt rustling as she pulled it up over her legs. "Like what you see, Ed?" she quipped, flashing me an amused smile as I glanced back at her just in time to see her fastening the top button of the skirt, which was much shorter than I'd realized and actually rather indecent. I swallowed hard, and Lizzie smirked and knocked my hip. "Oh, come on, Ed. Loosen up. We both know you've seen a lot more of me than this... and I want your opinion on how I look," she said a bit pleadingly, shaking me a little.

I rolled my eyes at her but turned to face her nonetheless. At that point, I figured it was wisest to just not say anything. I wasn't especially looking at her, because apparently she was deciding what to wear on her own, probably because she knew I'd want her bundled up like a pilgrim. She paused in thought and then headed over to her dresser, sifting through the first drawer, which was, I knew, reserved for underwear, tights, and socks. I took the opportunity to pick up a few things on the floor and fold the pajama pants she'd just been wearing. "Hey, Liz, you should probably bring up some clothes to sleep in too," I reminded her.

Liz triumphantly pulled something from the drawer and whirled to face me. God, that skirt was really well-fitting and um, it kind of whipped up a little when she turned. She frowned a little. "Why? I can't just wear something of yours?" she asked, sounding a bit put-out. I hadn't thought about it, but there was something very healthy about picturing her in my clothes, the way t-shirts and pants of mine would hang on her and hopefully cover her up a bit... and she wouldn't be seducing Derek in _my_ clothes, surely. I shrugged, silently telling her it was fine, and Lizzie smiled before bending down to open one of her drawers and pulling out a thin red sweater.

Then she headed back over to me. "Here, hold this," she requested, thrusting the shirt into my arms. Lizzie pulled the shirt she was wearing over her head, revealing a black bra. I studiously tried to look away as Lizzie tossed the shirt on the floor and reached over for the red sweater. Glancing around her room, I found her deodorant and handed it to her. She smiled at me gratefully, and I smiled back somewhat awkwardly and looked away. At that point, I realized there was still something in my hands, something light, and I glanced down in confusion. And there, in my palm, was something very small, black, and lacy.

I jumped a little and threw it up in the air, rocketing away from it. I did not want to touch it or even look at it. "Ahhh! What is this, dental floss?" I exclaimed, gesturing at the little scrap of fabric that had fallen to the floor. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me, shirt around her neck, deodorant in hand.

"What does it look like, Edwin?" she muttered irritably, picking it back up and thrusting it in my hands. "It's women's underwear, okay? And it's not even a thong, so I don't get why you're acting like a jittery little boy who's been caught jacking off to the Sears Catalogue! It isn't like you haven't seen a girl's underwear before. You _do_ get around, remember?" she remarked, rather frustrated. I was holding it gingerly between my thumb and forefinger, away from me, a bit of a sour look on my face. "Can you just **hold** it for a second like a grown-up while I get dressed? God, and do you _have_ to hold it out like that like it's dirty or I've got an STD or something?" she snapped bossily, looking insulted by the way I was holding it.

I sighed, grimacing a bit, and reluctantly moved my arm in closer. She set the deodorant down and pulled her arms through the sleeves of the sweater. "You don't wear stuff like this!" I interjected somewhat accusingly, gesturing to the underwear with my free hand.

Liz threw me an arch look that threatened to turn into a glare, placing her hands on her hips. "How do _you_ know what I wear under my clothes, Edwin?" she asked pointedly, giving me an expectant glance. She motioned to the underwear herself. "What, Ed, am I not allowed to wear sexy underwear? I can't feel sexy and feminine from time to time?"

Sensing that this could become a very ugly argument very easily, since Lizzie was heading down a line of argument I'd never win, that old sore point about her athletic tomboy side versus traditional notions of femininity. I remembered how hard she'd punched me when I said guys liked "girly-girls", and she wasn't one. I didn't want to get anywhere near any arguments about women's rights or "images of womanhood" or whatever it was Casey called it. It's funny, you know, that someone who objected so much to the stereotyping women's "traditional" roles was secretly so boringly traditional herself half the time, you know. I threw Lizzie a look because, well, I didn't want to say anything about Derek out loud. "Well, besides you changing in front of me..." I replied pointedly, gesturing to her current state of undress. I don't think she quite got the hint in my tone that I didn't really want her changing in front of me. "I happen to do over half of the laundry in this house."

Lizzie stiffened a little bit, no doubt thinking about me folding her delicates, pawing through them, and putting them away. We both know she's more of a functional underwear kind of girl, which is good in my book, or I'd have gone insane a lot earlier. Then she shook her head and bent down slightly, reaching up under her skirt. I didn't know what she was doing and backed up a little, confused as a kind of thrill went down my spine. She was tugging down the underwear she'd been wearing, and I attempted to turn away, mildly uncomfortable being so close to her at that moment. But Liz reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me over so I kind of bumped into her. "You _will_ help me," she said, and it wasn't a question. It was an extremely tense, uncomfortable moment as we locked eyes, and something kind of dark passed between us.

I also had no idea just what, exactly, she was asking me to help her with at that precise moment.

However, at that very minute, the door slammed open, and Marti burst in, without knocking, as is her way. She gasped loudly upon seeing the two of us standing there. "Oh my **God**! I can't be-_lieve_ you two were having sex when you were supposed to be cleaning! Now what the hell do I tell Mom about your progress? "Oh, well, I kind of caught them in the act, and by the looks on their faces, I don't really think they were finished yet!" Ugh. I am going to need to drink a lot of Derek's eggnog to erase this from my memory!" she squealed, covering her eyes melodramatically and glancing at us from between her fingers, a look of deep disgust on her face.

Now, I was _fully_ aware of just how bad it looked, and I can see why Marti would've been suspicious. Lizzie half bent forward with her underwear halfway down her legs and shirt pushed up above her bra, holding my wrist low by her skirt, me right up against her, looking uncomfortable, lacy black underwear between my fingers. And it didn't help that I dropped the underwear and rocketed away from Lizzie, open hands up in the air, looking for all intents and purposes like a guilty man.

Liz, for her part, looked a little bit flustered, but she just kicked off the underwear, picked up the lacy scrap I'd dropped, and turned to look at Marti rather severely. "Marti, Edwin is fully clothed," she said pointedly, gesturing over at me, motioning from head-to-toe. Then she took a step closer to Marti, leaning in towards her and giving her a sharp look. "And, Marti, do you _honestly_ think that I would have sex with him standing up, in my room before noon, with the door not even locked at a time when we're supposed to be cleaning, and anyone could walk in on us?" she asked deadly seriously. I could've groaned at her choice of wording, which by no means was clear enough on the fact that we _didn't_ have a sexual relationship and that she wouldn't actually have sex with me. Liz scoffed and shook her head. "I'm not stupid, honey."

I rolled my eyes, wanting to bang my head against the wall. I felt as if no one really got the point, and yeah, true, I wasn't saying anything, but I knew Marti wouldn't believe me if I did. I also couldn't help but notice that Lizzie hadn't exactly attempted to explain, and, while I can see that theoretically we shouldn't have to explain ourselves to a thirteen-year-old... she is our sister, and she is at the impressionable age where something like this could easily scar her for life. Marti gestured to me herself, still looking disgusted. "Oh, _really_? Then why is his fly unzipped?"

Okay, at that point, I really did fight the urge to groan. I glanced down and zipped up my jeans, feeling even more embarrassed. My face must've been as hot as the sun, even though that defies many laws of nature and physics. I felt as if my face and my skin could've fried eggs or boiled water. I must've forgotten to zip my pants when I stole away to use the bathroom. The look Lizzie was giving me said I was going to have to answer that question myself, which meant that Marti was never going to believe me. Maybe I just have to resign myself to that fact. "Marti, Lizzie was changing, okay? My fly was unzipped because I went to the bathroom earlier. And, frankly, I'm really insulted that your first thought was that we were having sex and that I even have to explain myself to you. She's my sister, same as you, and I don't want to have sex with her," I stated very firmly. I don't know why I tried, though. I knew she wasn't going to believe me.

Marti rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, really? And you're gonna tell me that you're not even remotely thinking about the fact that Lizzie isn't wearing any underwear right now?" she interjected, a smug, little knowing smile on her lips. I wasn't, actually, but the minute Marti said that, naturally, the thought possessed me. I forced myself to not look at Lizzie or show any sign that I was thinking of the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear, but I suppose it wasn't enough. Marti grinned in triumph, and I shot her a disgusted look.

I felt rather than saw Lizzie roll her eyes, and when I turned to look at her, she was pulling up her underwear, so I glanced away rather hurriedly, cheeks reddening. Lizzie sighed. "Marti, I know it's in you to look for the most ridiculous, dramatic explanation for a situation... but it's nothing like that. It's exactly like Edwin said, really. I was changing, and he was helping me figure out what to wear. It's really as simple as that," she said wearily, traces of irritation towards my sister starting to show. When I looked at her again, she was in the process of pulling her sweater down. My eyes must've bugged out then since I was in no way aware that the seemingly-innocent sweater bared such an obscenely large amount of cleavage. "He's my _brother_, Marti," Lizzie continued pointedly.

The way she said brother made me bristle a little bit because I was well-aware that that excuse had never stopped her before. However, her words had a magical effect on Marti, who immediately looked chagrined and actually apologized to me for thinking the worst of me. Then Lizzie smiled at her and told her to tell Nora that we'd be done with her room in ten minutes. Then Marti left, door closing behind her, and I was left all alone in the room with Lizzie, who was giving me an odd, expectant sort of look. When I didn't say anything and started picking up the clothes she'd dropped, hanging up the clean ones, Lizzie cleared her throat. "So... How do I look?"

I shrugged, barely looking at her. She seemed to look fine. The clothes looked good on her, even if I wasn't particularly comfortable with the amount of skin they exposed. The less said about it, the better, in my opinion. Next thing I knew, Lizzie was at my side, taking the clothes out of my hands and muttering about how I didn't have to do that. "Do you think I'm attractive?" she asked suddenly, once I reluctantly met her stare. I didn't really want to comment on how she looked, but now that she'd gone down that route, it was rather unavoidable.

"Of course I think you're attractive, Lizzie. Why are you even asking?" I told her in a voice that said this fact was very much obvious. She didn't entirely look convinced, though, and she smoothed her hands over her skirt in a gesture that was as close to nervousness as I'd ever seen her get. I never really understood why Derek always made Lizzie act like a preteen, trying too hard and desperate for approval. Lizzie has no reason to revert to this insecure, almost-shy individual, obsessing over every little detail. It reminded me of Casey whenever she liked a boy, and, God, that was annoying enough the _first_ time around, when I wasn't even seeing my intelligent, normally levelheaded, and confident best friend turning into a gelatinous substance over my brother (like plasma, only not half as interesting).

Lizzie huffed, "Because you're just standing there, saying nothing. And, I dunno, I thought you were just being polite or trying to avoid saying that I look completely stupid or something." She crossed an arm over her chest, looking mildly uncomfortable. It was one of those moments where I hated my brother because he was the one who made her this way. As ridiculous and unfair as it sounds to blame him for something he doesn't even know about and certainly wouldn't encourage if he knew.

"You don't look stupid, Lizzie," I told her slowly, heading to another corner of her room to clean up a bit by putting things in their proper places. It was tricky, thinking of what to say next, because I knew anything I said about the fruitlessness of her task would not be well-received and would probably hurt her. "I just... I'm not sure Derek will notice. I can't always predict his reaction." I could reasonably predict his reaction, actually, but I was also wise enough to know that Lizzie wouldn't want to hear it. Derek would notice her attire, but not in the way she wanted him to. Derek, in turn, would point out her attire to me, get the wrong idea, and say something to me.

Unfortunately, Lizzie correctly read between the lines and saw it for the vaguely discouraging statement it was, and she frowned at me. She opened her mouth, ready to say something either angry or sad, but stopped suddenly when her phone vibrated. She walked over to her desk, picking it up and pressing a few buttons, no doubt reading a text message. Then she smiled faintly and started texting back. I came up behind her, curious about whom she was texting, but Lizzie turned away from me. She waited a minute, phone in hand, and shortly read another message. Her smile widened, and then she turned around and just about ran into me. "Jamie's coming over," she told me cheerfully.

She hadn't seen him for a while, at least since Break had begun, and they hadn't seen much of each other before finals. I frowned, not half as thrilled, and Lizzie rolled her eyes at me, pushing me a little. "Come on, Edwin. I don't know why you always get that attitude about him. He's your friend too, after all." I threw her a skeptical look. Our inability to get along was a continual source of frustration for Lizzie, but she's a girl and she just... doesn't understand that, sometimes, when there are two men in a girl's life, they tend not to get along as a rule because, well, each one has a claim over her, and being nice to the other guy is like conceding his point. For an example, we have the studied cool Derek adopted regarding Truman and his staunch refusal to say what he thought about him when pressed. He barely even acknowledged Truman once it became clear that Truman was interested in Casey.

She sighed, vaguely exasperated. "You know, Edwin, if you took the chance to get to know him, I think you'd realize that the two of you have a lot in common. He's really a nice guy... and I don't get why you have such a problem with him," she continued, rather annoyed, trying to plead his case. It annoyed me, in turn, that she was making it sound like this was all me. Jamie's at fault here too, but expecting us to be friends just because she's friends with both of us is irrational at best and hopeless at worst. We're just never going to be tight. We might understand each other, but Jamie's always going to annoy the hell out of me, and he's always going to be suspicious of me.

I shook my head, taking a step closer and putting some of Lizzie's things away. "The only thing we have in common is _you_, Lizzie." Aside from our gender, anyway. Lizzie opened her mouth, ready to protest and make a comparison that would've no doubt insulted both Jamie and me, but I cut her off. "Look, Liz, really, I have no problem with Jamie himself. He's an okay person... but we're never going to be good friends like you want us to be. We're too different," I stated rather diplomatically. Now it was Lizzie's turn for a skeptical glance.

"Edwin, need I remind you that your last interaction with Jamie was pranking him? I'm still mad at you for rigging his locker to dispense rancid custard every time he opened it! That is _not_ the way you act towards someone you have no problems towards!" she argued, getting vaguely irritated, shoving hangers and clothes back into her closet. Actually, that is the way I act towards people I don't have problems with. If I had a real problem with him, I'd have used dead fish or possibly punched him in the face like I did with Brent. With Jamie I don't even care enough to waste the breath insulting him properly.

I grinned at the reminder of the prank (she still, apparently, didn't know about the itching powder part, which I assume Jamie was too embarrassed to tell her about). I had a stroke of brilliance with the itching powder bit, since I convinced Jamie that maybe he was itching because he had a venereal disease or lice. I shrugged, trying to look a bit nonchalant about it, but Lizzie knew me too well to be fooled by it. "Honestly, Lizzie, the only problem I have is the fact that he very obviously still has a thing for you. And he annoys me," I told her decisively. I would've added that he was rather dull and not too much fun, but I didn't want to make Lizzie more annoyed with me.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at me but interestingly didn't even attempt to argue against my points, which was as good as conceding I was right. However, I'm fairly certain that she was just getting tired of arguing with me. "Can you just _please_ try to get along with him for my sake? And that means no insulting him in front of his face, no secretly mocking him, no unfavorable impressions... Play nice," Lizzie instructed in a tone that was half-pleading and half-bossy. I frowned a little, as she'd just taken all the fun out of it.

"Don't I always?" I quipped with a grin, in lieu of openly agreeing to do as she asked. Liz threw me a skeptical, rather threatening look that intimated I better get along with him and play nice. I held my hands up in a sort of surrendering gesture, bowing a little to her will, but I didn't promise. After all, I can still make fun of Jamie and screw with him if Lizzie doesn't notice, not that she said anything about me screwing with him. She just asked me not to make fun of him. I can toy with him and annoy him all I want, and it would be so easy to get Jamie to play right into my hand. After all, I know he's jealous of me because of my relationship with Lizzie, and I know he sort of thinks I stole her from him... plus I've got the whole secret admirer thing to lord over him. This could be... fun.

At the very least, it ought to distract me (and, more importantly, hopefully... Lizzie) from Derek's arrival. Speaking of which, not five minutes later, we heard Marti squeal and run down the stairs screaming "SMEREK!", so it was fairly safe to say our wayward brother had arrived. Lizzie, for her part, thrust the clothes she'd picked into my hands and dashed over to the mirror to check her appearance before darting out of the room and down the stairs. I sighed and set the clothes on the staircase to my room, knowing no one would be going up there for a while, and then headed downstairs to greet my brother. Someone had to make sure Lizzie didn't do something stupid, after all.

Derek had just walked in, but he was already mobbed by people. The door slammed shut behind him just as my feet hit the last step. A weary, stressed Nora and Dad, who'd been working in the kitchen and downstairs, respectively, were walking slowly towards him. "Merry Derekus, everybody!" Derek proclaimed gleefully, looking rather like Santa as he dropped his bag and hoisted C higher in the air, to his immense delight. C giggled brightly, clinging to his big brother for support. He was looking at Derek the way I used to, with naked admiration, although I have to say, I never remember Derek doing much like that with me. He was wearing a paper hat over a ski-cap and holding a bag filled with prizes, and the tell-tale traces of cotton-candy and pizza sauce lingered around his mouth, proving that they _had_ been to Chuck E. Cheese's after all.

Marti propelled herself at Derek as soon as he'd dropped his bag, and the force of her embrace knocked Derek back a step and left him a little breathless. "Ohmigod, Smerek, I missed you so much!" she exclaimed passionately, cuddling into him. Derek patted her head with his free hand, a mildly amused smile on his face.

"You saw me yesterday, Smarti," he said, grinning. "Surely you can't miss me that much." Marti shook her head, indicating that she did, indeed, miss him that much and insisting that every time without him was like the first time and that it was so good to have him back in the house, and, really, a bunch of treacly, fawning stuff that I could've just as easily imagined Lizzie saying. Lizzie was waiting on the sidelines, hoping for a chance to give Derek a very special hug once Marti finished monopolizing him. Me, I just watched.

Derek returned Marti's bear hug with one arm, smiling, and tried to move forward into the house. At that moment, however, Sebastian saw Mom and Dad and started wiggling and kicking, wanting to be set free. He managed to escape from Derek's clutches and went bounding into Nora's arms, screaming "Mommy!" and telling her all about how Derek had taken him to Chuck E's. Dad ruffled C's hair affectionately, sharing a smile with Derek, while Nora gave him a slightly reproachful glance but feigned listening attentively to Sebastian's story. Derek shook his head fondly, gazing at them, and then Lizzie sort of blindsighted him with a hug that almost verged on a tackle.

He turned to look at her, at first confused, and then he gradually smiled and returned the embrace, although not quite as warmly or as fiercely as Lizzie was embracing him. "I haven't been body-checked like that in ages, Lightning! I'm proud of you, kiddo," he told her freely, smiling and rubbing his side absently. Lightning was Lizzie's hockey nickname, obviously referencing her speed and ability to electrify and pummel straight through anything in her way. I preferred "Fireball" myself, but Lightning allowed for better alliterative properties. Lizzie laughed and hugged him tighter, and I noticed, catching a glimpse of Derek's expression, that he looked mildly uncomfortable.

It was, actually, a bit of a "save-me" expression, which was rather amusing, even as I disapproved of Lizzie's feelings for him. His smile fell a little as he pulled back, motioning magnanimously over to me with a casual flick of his wrist. He must've been in a festive mood, because I couldn't remember the last time I hadn't seen him looking some shade of miserable, let alone so jolly he could rival Santa Claus. "Okay, Ed, you c'mere too, bro!" he proclaimed uncharacteristically, holding his arms out for an embrace. I made a silent resolution to corner him in a free moment and question him about his sudden change in mood. I snorted and stepped down, taking my time walking over to him. Lizzie and Marti were at his side, both looking slightly put-out by Derek singling me out.

Nonetheless, I was happy to see my brother, and it was really rare that he initiated a hug in general. Derek prefers to think of himself as a non-hugging person, especially when it comes to members of the same sex. I smiled at him warmly and pulled him into a hug. The force of the hug from Derek's end surprised me. He patted me hard on the back, grinning. "Good to see you, bro. Have you gotten taller since the last time I saw you?" he replied while pulling back, giving me a bit of a quizzical look. I frowned at him, shaking my head goodnaturedly, and remarked that I'd seen him earlier this week. Derek peered at me curiously, frowning a little like he didn't exactly believe me.

At that very moment, just as I was about to ask how Derek was doing, the entire family saw fit to push forward and attack Derek from all sides, a plan that was led and initiated by Marti and Sebastian, so that Sebastian was hugging his leg, Marti one side, me the other, Lizzie his back, and Dad and Nora Derek's torso. We were all squeezed up there pretty awkwardly, mildly uncomfortably, and Derek looked rather surprised at this sudden influx of emotion. Almost everyone was hugging him pretty tightly, so Derek's expression was, I imagine, rather more pained than touched. "Wow. **So**. _Much._ Love. I really don't know how to handle this," he muttered tightly, since they were hugging the breath out of him. I tried my best to give Derek a skeptical look, because he was no stranger to people crushing him with affection, whether they be his teammates or fangirls. "Well..." he managed to choke out, "it's good to be loved." I heard a strain of some unfamiliar emotion in his voice, something raw and appreciative, but when I looked at Derek's face, it had just vanished from his rather faraway gaze.

I tried to pull away, as I was also rather uncomfortable, sandwiched between Derek, Lizzie, my father, and part of the door, but as I pulled my hand away from Derek's shoulder, shifting towards my dad to extract my other hand, it fell into Lizzie's shirt. My hand landed mostly on bare skin, the cleavage bared by that sweater, and came just short of falling into her bra and hitting a more indecent area. Lizzie gasped softly, perhaps thinking for an instant that all her dreams of being in Derek's proximity had somehow come true and that it was his hand, but then she saw it was me and just glowered at me. I smiled thinly, awkwardly, and pulled my hand out of her shirt before someone like, say, Derek or Marti, noticed and thought it was just a confirmation of their beliefs about Lizzie and me.

Carefully, I twisted out of the embrace, and Derek, shooting me a thankful glance, took that as a sign to start gently pushing the family away. After all, he knew he was hardly the prodigal son. In other times, earlier days, something like that might've had us all in stitches, but something, maybe the holidays and their impending stress, or maybe the fact that we all knew things were about to become very awkward (or, perhaps, that it felt wrong to laugh without Casey there), prevented us. Once we were all properly detangled and situated in the living room, Derek opened his mouth, flashed a smile, and said he had something to tell us. However, we never got to hear what it was, for, at that moment, the front door burst open and a tall, dark man burst in rather dramatically.

The man looked about Derek's age, maybe a little older, and he was wearing a dark toque and, rather oddly, a black fur coat, leather messenger bag, jeans, and hardy boots. He was dotted with flecks of moisture from the flurries outside and was holding a rather uninspiring duffel bag, a medium-sized bag, and, in the other hand, a rather magnificent bouquet of flowers. He was probably better-looking than Derek, but in a quieter, hungry sort of way, with pale, enigmatic blue eyes and a blank, unsmiling expression. He might've looked tough, but I knew just from looking at him that he could've been Derek's polar opposite. He lacked the strident confidence and radiating ego of his friend.

Imagine our surprise when he slipped out of his wet boots as if he was perfectly at home here, as if this was something perfectly natural to him. Lizzie, I think, gaped at him, horrified at his choice of attire. Then the stranger affected a strained, vaguely awkward sort of style and approached Nora shyly. He thrust the flowers out towards her awkwardly, and Nora stared at them for a minute before tentatively accepting them and throwing my father an apologetic look. "Thank you for letting me stay here. I am glad to be guest," he pronounced awkwardly. His English was accented, not quite broken, a bit formal, and rather stilted, which led me to conclude that he was a recent immigrant who spoke a Slavic tongue as his first language.

Nora blinked at him in confusion, and we all turned to back to look at Derek, who was looking a bit sheepish. He shrugged, addressing the young man who'd come in. "I'm sorry, Sergei. I hadn't exactly gotten around to telling them yet." Sergei frowned but nodded and seemed to expect this. Looking at him, I realized that he seemed vaguely familiar and that I had seen him somewhere, but I had no recollection of ever properly meeting him. Nora raised a brow expectantly, staring Derek down. He flashed that charming, vaguely strained smile he used when he'd gotten himself into some kind of trouble, knew it, and wanted you to come out of it liking him. "Nora, Dad, I was wondering if my friend could spend the holidays with us. He can't go back home to his family because it's expensive and-" Derek began optimistically. He paused mid-sentence, throwing a questioning glance to Sergei. "And something about a visa not going through, right?"

Sergei nodded, frowning faintly, a certain sadness appearing in his eyes. Derek shrugged. "And, anyway, it sucks to be alone for Christmas, so I figured that he could just crash here with a real Canadian family for a while. The more the merrier, right?" he continued brashly, as was his way. Nora's sympathy clearly went out to Sergei; this was apparent from the minute Derek had said he couldn't be with his own family. However, she held out for a moment. "It's not a problem, right?" Derek asked calmly, rather obliviously, utterly certain Nora would say yes.

She smiled tightly at Derek. "Well, some prior notice would've been nice... but I think we can find a place for him," Nora said in a mildly annoyed tone that went completely above Derek's head. She didn't exactly sound thrilled about it, and I'm sure the poor guest felt it. Then she glanced at Sergei, and her smile softened. "Plus, Derek, I think it would help if you introduced us, since we haven't met your friend yet," she suggested, prompting him to do so.

Derek could be so obtuse about things sometimes. He laughed and smacked himself in the head. "Sorry, Nora. I totally forgot," he said apologetically, flashing her a particularly endearing smile that made Nora's irritation evaporate. He's so good at charming those McDonald women; it's like he doesn't even have to try. His grin widened and he walked over to his friend, stopping when he was right beside him and clapping his shoulder firmly and affectionately. "Nora, this is my co-captain and roommate, Sergei Volkhov. He's from Russia," Derek pronounced, turning to Sergei and throwing an arm around him. Poor Sergei looked slightly embarrassed, mildly uncomfortable, and more than a little overwhelmed. We McDonald-Venturis are a bit much for anyone, I should think.

I thought about it for a minute and realized quickly that this meant that Sergei was very likely Derek's _best_ friend at university. Ralph also went to Western, but he's not the kind of friend you have real, significant conversations with. I wondered then what Derek had told him about us, given that none of us, excepting Sebastian and (probably) Marti had ever met him. He and Derek must've been friends for at least two or three years, if not all four. But, I suppose, out of the necessity of being in university and trying to live his own life, Derek had always liked to keep his home and family life and life at university separate. We only went up there for his games and first move-in day; otherwise, Derek drove home on his own and recruited others to help him. He was home often enough to satisfy our parents that they didn't need to check up on him at university, and this suited Derek just fine because it gave him the freedom to do what he wanted. It might've been different if he'd gone away or had gone to Queens as had been the original plan, where Casey would've checked up on him for the parents... but she'd gone to U of T, and Derek had wound up here, on his own. Had he even mentioned Casey to Sergei?

Then Derek released Sergei and started gesturing towards family members and turning Sergei in our directions. "This is Nora, my stepmom and our lovely hostess." Nora smiled kindly at Sergei, who awkwardly returned the gesture. "And this is my dad, George." George smiled and held out his hand for him to shake, which Sergei did with some trepidation. "And this is my little sister, Marti. She's thirteen, adorable, and wild as a tiger, so watch out for her. She's been known to bite the heads off of people she doesn't like," he proclaimed cheerily. Marti bared her teeth to go along with him, and Sergei looked mildly horrified and moved away from her. Derek bent down to pick up Sebastian, who was running around in circles. "And this here is my little Seabiscuit, my baby brother, who you met already in the car. He's a chip off the old block," he said affectionately. C, for his part, pressed an adorable kiss to Derek's cheek and giggled until Derek released him.

He finally walked over to the wall by the door, where Lizzie and me were standing awkwardly side-by-side, holding hands. I hadn't even realized we were doing it, actually, let alone that I was standing next to her, but Derek evidently did, because he glanced down and smirked at me, causing us both to drop our hands. "And this is my brother, Edwin, who is crazy smart and can explain anything to you about this crazy family of ours. Oh, and he's into Chemistry, so you'll have plenty of things to talk about," he told Sergei, patting me on the shoulder before turning to Lizzie, who was staring at him with naked affection. My eyes met Sergei's for a second, and a weird sort of feeling passed over to me at seeing something in his gaze. It was an unsettling feeling that I couldn't quite place, but I adopted a smile and tried to be polite while puzzling it out. Turns out Sergei is a Chemical Engineering major. "And this is Lizzie, my _favorite_ stepsister. She's a force of nature on the ice and pretty awesome all the way around," he continued warmly. Sergei affected a smile and kissed Lizzie's hand in a noble gesture. Lizzie practically fainted at this unexpected praise, but Derek turned before he could properly read the expression on her face, taking Sergei back to Dad and Mom.

Nora smiled awkwardly at first. "I'm sorry we don't really have a place for you right now, but I'm sure Derek can think of something... or Edwin has a sofa bed up in his room, if you don't mind sleeping on that," she began carefully. Sergei smiled and said that would be fine, and Derek insisted magnanimously that Sergei could sleep in his room on the sleeping bag he'd brought. Then Nora full-out beamed at him and pulled him into a warm embrace. "Welcome to the family!" Then Sergei pulled away, smiling back, and I think I might've seen tears in his eyes. "Make yourself at home," she declared warmly, pulling off his hat and gesturing to the coat rack. She smoothed out his hair maternally, and Sergei kissed her hand and said, rather shyly, that it was a pleasure to meet her.

Sergei smiled slightly and put his hat on the rack, slipping off his coat and hanging it from a hook. Lizzie touched it when Sergei's back was turned and muttered something to me about it being bear fur. My point of view is that anyone who can kill a bear deserves to wear its skin. I mean, what I've never understood about those rabid PETA types is the fact that they seem to deny the food chain. Animals eat other animals, and then they die. People are also animals, so why shouldn't we eat them and wear their fur? After all, they're all for conservation, right? Might as well not waste the meat and fur by using it up.

Dad went to put the flowers in water. Nora proclaimed that it was time for Sebastian's nap and hustled him up the stairs. Marti followed reluctantly with Derek and Sergei's things to put in Derek's room. Nora had said she'd be investigating her room, which Marti had, of course, not cleaned. Derek hollered that Ralph would be stopping by later, which made both of our parents happy, since he was a good guest, and they had always been fond of him. Derek told Sergei to relax, sat him down on the couch, and promptly flopped into his recliner, flicking the TV onto some mindless MTV show. Derek doesn't like to think about his television... or anything, really. Then, of course, the Emperor ordered me to make him a sandwich.

My brother comes back to stay, and it's like I'm nine again! Only this time, when I even hesitated, Lizzie glared at me. I know I'm too old to be doing stuff like this, and it's not like I like it, but better that than hearing Derek bitch and threaten. Fortunately it's a quick task, making Derek's sandwich, so I was out of the kitchen in approximately three minutes. I'd just thrust the plate into his hands when the doorbell rang. Lizzie got up and went over to get it. Naturally, it was Jamie: early, earnest, and altogether too eager and enthusiastic. He looked over and frowned upon seeing the rest of us and waved awkwardly before refocusing all of his attention on my sister. "Hey! Wow, Lizzie, I am seeing a _lot_ more of you than normal!" he exclaimed in a voice that went up considerably as he none-too-subtly ran his eyes over her, lingering on her breasts. Lizzie beamed at him, eating up the praise, and I just snorted. Lizzie turned back around to scowl at me, mouthing at me to be nice. Jamie's hesitant smile fell when Lizzie turned back to look at me, and I could practically feel his jealousy. "You look really great!" Jamie interjected loudly, regaining Lizzie's attention. I glanced over at Derek and rolled my eyes.

He too snorted, and Lizzie frowned a little and glared at both of us over her shoulder before returning her attention to Jamie. She purposefully glanced back at Derek, who either didn't notice or thought she was looking at me, and then sidled up to Jamie, putting a hand on his arm. "It's so good to see you, Jamie! It's been way too long since we hung out," she said warmly. Then she did something rather unexpected and pulled him into a close embrace. Jamie's eyes closed a bit like he was in heaven and couldn't believe his luck, absorbing the moment with every vibrating subatomic particle of his being. I threw Derek a look, just barely managing to stifle my laughter. Derek gave me a look like I should be upset or jealous about Jamie touching Lizzie, but, honestly, I didn't really care because I knew the main reason Lizzie was even touching him at all was a foolish and stupid attempt to make Derek jealous. Plus, realistically, I've done more with Lizzie than Jamie ever has or ever will, so what do I have to be jealous of? Then Lizzie pulled away, and Jamie leaned in and said something to Lizzie I couldn't quite make out that led to them going upstairs for something.

I rolled my eyes, recognizing it for the poor ruse it was to spend time alone with my sister in a bedroom. Please, I _invented_ those excuses when they were dating! I sank gratefully down into the seat Liz had just vacated and decided to pretend to watch television so I could stop thinking about what I'd done those times we were alone in her bedroom. "Do you have something to do with this?" Derek asked out of the corner of his mouth. I looked over at him questioningly, and Derek threw me a look, gesturing up the stairs. "Lizzie becoming a Catholic schoolgirl?" he continued rather pointedly. I grimaced, but of course my brother would notice that and get the wrong idea. Derek was staring at me, and it was really unnerving. Then, suddenly, he glanced away and his gaze darkened, and he was that shadow of a person I'd become accustomed to seeing around these parts. "That was always Casey's thing," he muttered bitterly.

Embarrassed, I had been looking away, but this voluntary release of information was so unexpected that I whipped around to look at him. He'd said Casey's name. Then I turned to look at Sergei, who glanced over at us with a mild yet unquestioning interest. Derek has trained him well. I raised an eyebrow and tried frantically to think of something to tell Derek that wouldn't make him think there was something going on with us, and that something also couldn't be the whole truth. Nevertheless, I hesitated too long, and Derek smirked and patted me on the shoulder. "Appreciate while you can, bro... But, seriously, why haven't you said anything to her yet? She's obviously waiting for you to make a move," Derek said pointedly, looking at me as if he deserved an explanation.

I rolled my eyes at him. It annoyed me that he presumed to understand Lizzie better than I did when I knew her feelings better than anyone. "As I've said before, Derek, Lizzie wants another guy entirely. And I think I know better than you do, since I am Lizzie's best friend, and she told me this," I argued vaguely exasperatedly. I'm just so sick of having to explain all of this to everyone I meet. Why doesn't Lizzie ever have to explain? This is two family members I've had to explain this to today. I would've denied interest in Lizzie, but I figured it would be a pointless effort since Derek would just never believe me. Derek threw me a skeptical look, as if Lizzie would tell me this to deliberately mislead me, in Derek's opinion because she didn't want me to realize she had feelings for me. This is of course beyond stupid, as Lizzie tells me just about everything, and her feelings for Derek are so obvious that I didn't even have to ask her to figure out how she felt.

Lizzie wouldn't and, quite frankly, couldn't successfully conceal something of that magnitude from me, not anymore. And, even if, as before when she did briefly have... extrabrotherly feelings for me, shall we say... she didn't tell me but she didn't outright lie to my face or deliberately attempt to mislead me as to her feelings. Lizzie isn't that sneaky or good at lying, quite frankly. That type of stupid, needless girlish artifice is quite beyond her and so alien to her character that it's insulting Derek could read her so wrong. "C'mon, bro. Have you seen the way she's been parading around here in those skimpy outfits? You think she's doing that for some other guy's benefit?" Derek exclaimed disbelievingly. He shook his head, as usual certain that he was right. "She totally _wants_ you, Ed."

I groaned, mashing my head back into the couch. How can one reasonably intelligent and clever person get the situation so entirely wrong? How does it not occur to Derek that the guy I described her having feelings for greatly resembles him, or the fact that whenever _he_ sees Lizzie, she's tarted up and wearing some sort of incredibly revealing outfit? Yet he thinks Lizzie's doing this to attract me, which is completely idiotic, since, if she was really out to attract me, Lizzie wouldn't need to do all of this in public, since God knows we're alone enough for her to come onto me in a far more direct and persuasive manner. As a rule, Lizzie usually gets what she wants because she's determined, persistent, and strong-willed. And, if I was really what she wanted, she probably wouldn't have to do so much, given the abysmal state of my sex life, the attraction and history between us, and the fact that I cannot match her will and just... _can't _say no to her. She would wear me down without too much difficulty; again, only if I was what she really wanted, and I'm _not. _Lizzie isn't some indirect sort of flirt; her pursuit of Derek, actually, because of who he is, is more reserved and indirect than usual out of necessity rather than preference.

"Yeah, Derek, _that's_ what she's doing," I muttered sarcastically, pinching the bridge of my nose irritably. Why is he so blind? Why am I the only one in this family who can see everything clearly? Does everyone else just refuse to see or seek out the truth? When did I become the exception? Derek gave me this annoyed, vaguely exasperated look like, "well, why don't you just go for it?" He was about to say something more, too, along those lines, but, fortunately, Lizzie and Jamie walked down the stairs at that very moment, and Derek uncharacteristically closed his mouth. I had never been so happy to see Jamie in my life.

However, Lizzie and I needed to have a little chat about just what, exactly, she thought she was doing here. So I smiled at Derek and Sergei in a friendly way and then got up, shooting Lizzie a look that demanded her presence in the kitchen. She correctly read the look for the request it was and quickly made her excuses and came to join me at the counter. "What do you want, Ed? I do _kind _of want to hang out with Jamie, you know," she asked vaguely irritably, probably because she knew I wasn't going to say something supportive and probably also because she didn't appreciate my attitude towards her second-oldest male friend.

"World peace, a Nobel Prize in Physics, and you to stop embarrassing yourself." Liz glowered at me, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting defensively. Really, however, I actually wanted: Derek to get off of my case, my family to be normal, everyone to stop accusing me of having sex with my stepsister, Lizzie to stop having feelings for my moronic brother, and, finally... honestly... I kind of want to be someone other than Edwin Venturi, if that makes sense. Wow, that's really sad. I sighed, softening a little. "Lizzie, don't flirt with the poor guy. It's not going to piss Derek off, and it'll just confuse Jamie. I mean, Liz, you don't use a guy like _Jamie_ to make a guy like Derek jealous. You just _don't_," I advised her bluntly.

Lizzie faltered, trying to pretend for a second that I wasn't completely right. Then she saw the futility of trying to lie to me and sighed, leaning heavily against the counter. She looked down and then looked back up at me suddenly, defensively. "Then who **do** I flirt with, Ed? _You_?" she retorted sarcastically, irritably. I stiffened a little, offended that she'd said it as if I was a joke. She was right, though, because Derek wouldn't be jealous of Lizzie flirting with me. He'd just think, as he already does, that it means that Lizzie's into me. Now, if it were a girl Derek was actually _interested_ in, perhaps, it would make him very jealous, that girl flirting with his brother.

I shook my head slowly and tried to think of an answer. "You flirt with someone Derek hates, someone who'll make him wonder what the hell you're doing and start to think of you differently. Either that or you flirt with his friends, but I think that would probably weird him out a bit more," I continued wisely. Derek wasn't really the type to get annoyed by other guys, since he always considered himself superior, but he'd had a few rivals in his time. It occurred to me that the best option would, sadly, probably be Truman French... not just because of the weirdness with him and Casey, but also because Lizzie going after Truman would seriously confuse the hell out of him. But finding him would be hard, likely destabilizing to Casey's engagement, and not worth the trouble. Most of Derek's friends, well, he'd go overprotective brother on them and Lizzie, or it would be just too weird for the friends or Lizzie because, well, Derek's friends are practically part of the family. Lizzie pursed her lips, seemed to consider this, and nodded slightly.

Then she smiled at me a little and squeezed my shoulder affectionately. "Thanks, Ed," she said before turning away. She asked me to tell Jamie she was making popcorn and getting snacks. Apparently they were watching a movie. Frankly, I was rather annoyed, since I hadn't seen a movie with her in God knows how long, and now I'm stuck playing her messenger boy? Nonetheless, I went rather sullenly back to the living room, prepared for more nagging from Derek and Jamie-related frustration.

So I walked rather formally up to Jamie and told him what Lizzie had said to me in an emotionless voice, adding that she would be back in a few minutes. For the ensuing moments, Jamie and I remained in an awkward and rather uncomfortable silence. Jamie felt this awkwardness more keenly than I did (and had more of an incentive to rectify it( and cleared his throat, pulling me over to the side. "How's Lizzie holding up?" he asked me rather urgently, gripping my arm with a strength that surprised me.

I blinked at him, puzzled by this strange, sudden inquiry. He'd seen Lizzie for himself, so he knew just as well as I did how she was. I also didn't especially get why he asked the question in this hushed tone, as if Lizzie was grieving or suffering from some terminal illness that was too painful to talk about. Frankly, I was also mildly alarmed by the fact that he was touching me and had led me to the secluded corner to talk about this. After all, I highly value my personal space and do not want morons such as Lizzie's BFF this close to me. "Um, she's fine. She's Lizzie, you know," I told him slowly.

Meaning, of course, that if something was wrong, Lizzie would try and pretend like nothing was wrong and that everything was going fine. The way I said it, all nonchalant and casual, almost uncertain, seemed to alarm him. His eyes widened almost theatrically, and his grip tightened on my arm. I could appreciate that he, like me, cared for Lizzie, but the pathetic, dependent way he cared for my sister annoyed the hell out of me. "Honestly, Edwin, I was worried," he began seriously, dropping his voice an octave and glancing around the room with anxious, beady eyes, rather more like a white lab rat than a spy. I frowned at him, and Jamie continued talking, "It must be awful hard for her, what with Noel coming, right?"

My frown deepened, as I had no idea what he was talking about. His tone was full of sympathy approximately the viscosity of molasses or corn syrup, which was, like the sappy product, sweet, sticky and slightly nauseating, as it was in excess. He licked his lips nervously and continued before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about. "I mean, she'll have to see him with her sister all the time, and that... I know how painful it is to see the person you love with someone else," he added a moment later with a pained empathy in his voice. I'd be lying if I said that last sentence hadn't gotten to me just a little bit and made me feel bad for him. That was real pain in his voice, after all, and I saw the sad, rather pathetic way he tried to cover it up with a nervous, thin little smile that didn't match his eyes.

"Noel?" I asked confusedly, still not quite getting it. Admittedly, I'd entirely forgotten about this part of my lie to Jamie because it had, at the time, been so off-the-cuff and such a small part of the grand scheme of things. I'd been rather preoccupied with a thousand other things at the time, having just discovered that my sister was in love with my older brother. Lizzie's love for this other, older man—that was also something we never talked of on those rare occasions when we did, in fact, talk.

Jamie threw me a funny, kind of worried look. "Yeah, Lizzie's in love with him, right? You told me, remember?" he repeated a bit impatiently, rather like he thought I was slow and didn't get why I was questioning him.

Naturally, it then fell to me to clean this up a bit and make it seem like I'd remembered this trivial, stupid piece of information all along. It was unlike me to have forgotten in this first place. Derek had trained me from a young age that a good liar always remembers what he tells who and tells a fairly consistent story (because a lie that is _too_ consistent is just as suspicious as telling everyone something different, and, frankly, I don't talk the same to Lizzie, for instance, as I do to my parents, teachers, or even other friends). This had been drilled into me as I'd become a better liar, so I shrugged and smiled, thinking on my feet. "Oh. Sorry. I just... forgot I told anyone that. Hehe," I said, sounding a bit chagrined and glancing at the door a bit anxiously, like I had just remembered I wasn't supposed to tell him that.

Maybe this is why Mrs. Zeldin is always wanting me to act. Apparently growing up in this family has made me a natural mimic and a natural actor. I pulled a face but quickly adopted a dead serious look, leaning forward a little bit and firmly removing Jamie's hand from my arm. He was staring right into my eyes, waiting for the teeniest bit of information, so he didn't seem to notice. "But, yeah... It is hard for her, seeing him every day. With her sister," I added slowly, rather deliberately. Of course, as I said this, I was thinking of Derek, naturally, and I'd even gone so far as to throw him a look, unintentionally, of course. If Jamie noticed this, I doubt he realized the significance of such a look, and I doubt he'd even believe that his precious Lizzie was capable of being in love with someone like Derek.

Not without reason, though, I suppose. I hardly believed it at first either, but Lizzie does have deplorable taste in men, so why wouldn't she go for someone like my brother after Tony the Hockey Captain? Indeed, it seems like the next logical link in the chain. Then, thank the mysterious forces of the universe, Lizzie came out of the kitchen, smiling, with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and snacks in her hands. Jamie jumped up like a flea to help her, hastening to snatch the food from her hands. She smiled a bit wearily and then led him up the stairs. He followed her like a lost puppy, bambi-eyed and nipping at her heels. I realized that she was very probably taking him to _my_ room to watch it and grimaced at the thought of Jamie in my domain. I didn't want him there amongst my things, touching everything, laughing and joking with Lizzie; he had no right to be comfortable there, in my place.

When I was done glaring at Jamie's back, Derek cleared his throat loudly, obviously with the intention of attracting (or, rather, demanding) my attention. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, not particularly caring to hear Derek's no doubt erroneous interpretation of my actions. I so hate it when people start out interpreting data with a foregone conclusion in mind and then only look at the information that supports that conclusion and discount everything else. It's more debate than science, really, and life is never quite so convenient. Plus, as I've mentioned before, it leads to incorrect extrapolation and all kinds of other problems because the facts aren't being interpreted correctly or put into context, and the information is, thus, unfairly weighted in favor of a predetermined outcome. "Are you _seriously_ jealous of Jamie?"

I turned around to glower at Derek this time and made a show of scoffing at what he said. Apparently Derek thought the scoff was unconvincing because he continued to give me that same incredibly irritating knowing look. It wouldn't be irritating if Derek actually knew anything, but he had everything completely wrong, so accustomed to lies that he couldn't recognize the truth even when it was right in front of him. "Derek, for the last time, what reason do I have to be jealous of Jamie? Even if I had feelings for Lizzie, I still wouldn't be jealous of him. He's a joke... and being jealous of him would mean I thought he _actually_ had a chance with Lizzie. And he doesn't because I know Lizzie, and I know her taste in men... and Jamie just doesn't measure up anymore, okay? He's not enough for her," I told him wearily, a bit angrily. Had I realized what significance these words would later have on my life, I might have paid more attention to what I was saying, but, of course, I didn't because science falls far short of predicting the future, even when you grab at all the patterns you can find and try to sort them into something coherent.

Derek just made a face at me, waving me off with a flick of his wrist. "God, I forgot how annoying you are when it comes to Lizzie. Just go upstairs and put yourself out of your misery, so Sergei and I can watch TV in peace!" Derek muttered, wrinkling his nose. I rolled my eyes at him. Apparently I was harshing his mellow or something equally inane, or, rather, Derek just got sick of arguing with me because he knew I'd win. I did what he said anyway, though, because having to put up with Jamie alone and by herself was never a misfortune I'd wish on Lizzie. Besides, I had a moral obligation and duty as her big brother to protect her from the unwanted advances of fools like Jamie.

I went upstairs silently, aiming to have the element of surprise. I heard nothing on the second floor landing but Mom and Marti arguing, so I figured that my suspicions were correct. I carefully scaled the creaky stairs to my room, avoiding those spots that groaned beneath my feet, and opened the door without knocking or warning them. After all, it was my room, so I didn't owe them any courtesy. As predicted, the first thing I saw was Lizzie and Jamie sitting close together on my couch, watching a movie. Fortunately, Jamie was not trying to put the moves on Lizzie, although there was some evidence that he was in the process of trying to put an arm around her. Jamie kind of jumped as I entered, upsetting the popcorn bowl. Lizzie, for her part, glared at me and mouthed something about me not being able to leave her alone for a second.

Now, I was kind of annoyed since I knew I was going to have to clean up all of that greasy popcorn. I grew more annoyed a moment afterwards when Jamie wiped popcorn off his chest and glared at me like I'd just invaded his privacy or stolen something from him. From another person, such a look might've been formidable, even a death glare, but Jamie was so unassuming and nonthreatening that I didn't even bother rolling my eyes. Before either of them could do anything, I grinned and plopped right down between them on the couch, throwing my arms back over the edge of it and subtly throwing Jamie's arm back down in his lap. "So," I quipped, turning to Lizzie, "What are we watching?"

Lizzie huffed but couldn't bare to be cross with me. She tried to appear stern and instead wound up laughing a little. "Your favorite, of course, Ed... Twilight, followed by The Notebook," she replied, gesturing towards the screen. I did not stifle my groan this time, but I didn't move either. I gave Lizzie a look, knowing she hated those movies just as much as I did, if not more. One of Lizzie's peculiarities was that she had always absolutely hated princess movies. She hated the whole damsel-in-distress trope and thought that life would be a lot better if "those whining, good-for-nothing females got off their lazy puffy-skirt-wearing asses and saved themselves." Needless to say she liked none of the movie's leads, as the heroine was "worthless and personality-less" and the various male leads were "shades of abusive" and "stalkers." She used to joke that the vampire guy reminded her of some of her ex-boyfriends. I privately thought she didn't have to look any further than Jamie to find such an obsessive specimen.

Eventually Lizzie broke down, breaking our stare, and got up to change the movie. This was after she attempted to watch the movie for about five minutes without laughing or making a disparaging comment. She had to look away from me because she knew exactly what I was thinking, no doubt remembering that we'd seen this film together and had plenty of inside jokes about it. I'd been going out with Katy the Vampire at the time, and she'd set Lizzie up on a date with her weird emo-goth friend Lizzie thought was cute, in an attempt to butter her up or something. Naturally, as both Katy and her friend loved vampires, we wound up seeing that movie on a double-date. The only way they got us there was through trickery, and then through me realizing that Katy and I could fool around in the dark. However, Katy was too riveted by the film to do much more than suck on my neck a little, and Lizzie's date didn't talk or have anything in common with her. I probably could've made out with Lizzie in the theater, and they wouldn't have noticed.

So Lizzie and I stayed for maybe half the movie because we had to finish the popcorn and drinks and were having fun making fun of it. Shortly after this, we reached the point where it was all so ridiculous that we could take no more, so Lizzie feigned illness and we left the movie and went to see the 9:30 slasher flick, which we both enjoyed a great deal more, even if Lizzie spent half of the time in my lap, covering her eyes and burying her face in my chest. Actually, I think Katy and her friend, the Lord of Darkness, are actually dating now. Probably because we both ditched them on that date. I mean, really, who would think bad-ass wannabe goth vampires would be so disgustingly mushy and fond of sappy, ridiculous movies intended for preteen girls?

Jamie frowned and looked confused as to why Lizzie would change the movie. I think he actually said something about it, and we both gave him funny looks, effectively silencing the little whiner. Lizzie bent over, hunting for a better movie on my bookcase, giving the both of us a rather gratuitous view of her ass. Lizzie had forgotten how short her skirt was, and it rose up, revealing hints of skin and lacy black underwear. While I won't deny it was a nice view, I didn't enjoy it the sick way Jamie did. "Edwin, do you have to be sulking around here? I'm _trying_ to get some alone time with Lizzie," Jamie muttered through clenched teeth.

Oh, really, Jamie, I had absolutely no idea. The thing that grossed me out the most was that he kept staring at Lizzie's ass even as he was talking to me and didn't even take his eyes off it for a minute. I threw him an unamused look, crossing my arms over my chest and making myself more comfortable on the couch. "In _this_ house? Fat chance. If it's not me, it'll be someone even worse," I retorted irritably. The nerve of the punk, trying to kick me out of my own bedroom? After all, Lizzie wasn't ever supposed to be alone with a guy in a room with the door closed, much less allow one into her room. I was the obvious exception to this rule, and I was often used as a sort of "chaperon" for Lizzie, which is how we often wound up in the same room (i.e. my room) making out with our respective dates... me on the bed, and Lizzie on the couch. It wasn't something I really enjoyed, especially when Liz and Dan were dating or when she was with Tony the Tool, but it was our workable arrangement for making out.

I moved a little closer to him menacingly. Jamie backed up as I'd anticipated. "Plus, Jamie, I happen to live here, so last I checked, you have no right to comment on me choosing to remain anywhere in the house I have lived in since I was born. Because it's _my _house, and I can and will kick you out if I want to," I threatened quietly, lips quirking up in a thin smile just in time for me to seem pleasant. Lizzie looked up a moment later, no doubt sensing something was off but unable to tell what it was. She gave me a warning look and went back to finding movies. I should probably remind her that we can see her ass.

Eventually Lizzie found a movie, wrinkling up her nose at it but showing me the cover nonetheless. Jamie gave Lizzie a confused look, and she shrugged. It was one of my many Japanese horror films. "All he watches are bad action movies, Japanese horror films, and ridiculous low-budget sci-fi flicks. This was the best choice," she explained, waving the DVD. This was actually untrue, which made me wonder why Lizzie wanted to watch one of my movies. She hates horror films and hates them twice as much in Japanese. "Don't ask me why he loves Japanese things. I've got no clue," she continued, taking the other DVD out of the player and popping the new one in. She gave me a look that was no doubt intended to remind me of Eriza, the Japanese exchange student I'd dated briefly back in Grade Ten. Come to think of it, she probably was the main reason I liked Japanese things. After doing this, Liz raced back to the couch and resumed her former seat at my side.

Jamie glared daggers at me as I unthinkingly draped my arm around her, and she curled into my side easily, as if we'd practiced it. She leaned back her head so that her breath brushed my ear. "God, that film was awful. I don't know what I was thinking," she whispered, making a bit of a face but hiding it behind her hand. I knew she'd done it for Jamie's benefit because I know he doesn't really like action movies or else he's foolish enough and low on male pride enough to think that Lizzie likes any chick flick out there. I smirked at her, and she settled her head against my shoulder.

I bent down slightly to whisper back. "Well, then, maybe you shouldn't have kept watching it to prove a point to me," I countered with a grin. Lizzie giggled, muttering that it tickled, so I deliberately blew on her neck, making her shudder. She tried unsuccessfully to push me away, but I let my tongue dart out to lick her. Lizzie jumped and squirmed away, but I boxed her in, and then I was more or less half on top of her, tickling her.

"But where's the fun in that, Ed?" she gasped, laughing. Jamie loudly cleared his throat, reminding us of his presence, causing Lizzie to push me off of her and into Jamie. Jamie made a loud, whiny noise and shoved me back with a bit more punch than I expected. I suppose he was annoyed and jealous that we were leaving him out of his fun, and I'd more or less hijacked his "hanging-out time" with Lizzie. Whatever, it wasn't like I actually cared about that.

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of that afternoon, by which I mean Jamie, of course, since Lizzie and myself are, I'm sure you would agree, anything but boring. The whole rest of the day I was thinking about Casey's impending arrival and wondering, really wondering, what would happen tomorrow when Derek and Casey came face to face for the first time in at least a year? The last time I recalled them being in the same room, let alone exchanging words, was last year at Mom and Dad's anniversary dinner. This year Derek skipped out on the dinner, claiming he had a shift he couldn't get out of, so it could've been over a year since they'd had a proper conversation.

Also, from what I remembered, they hadn't said much to each other, just hello, the typical social pleasantries, and asking each other to pass some food item. It was so tense we were all uncomfortable in their presence, and something told me Christmas would be similarly oppressive and vaguely strained for all parties involved. At least it would give me an opportunity to observe them together, interacting, and judge for myself just what the problem was. It would be nice to have a few more answers to my many questions. Maybe Casey's visit would give me that opportunity. Maybe something would change. Maybe.

Loren ;*

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Tell me what you think! Also, remember, next chapter you get to see Derek and Casey's first interaction in four years, and, for that matter, the entire fic! How do you think it's going to go? Or not go? ;)


	20. Independent Variables

Okay, so in this chapter you get to finally meet Edwin's mystery woman. And I apologize in advance because she takes over a wee bit, and I dunno... This is what happens when I don't plan out conversations. I'm not real satisfied with what they say to each other or exactly how it ends... and I feel like it's kind of really random. But then again, that's kind of her thing, so, ugh, whatever. What can I do? Anyway, I hope you like her.

We also have the much-lauded and looked-forward to first in-fic meeting of Casey and Derek. But, remember, with them the majority of the action is always indirect. Especially in this story. And, obviously, some things will have changed, which you'll be able to pick up on right away.

We also get Cousin Vicky's arrival, which should be fun, equal parts entertaining and horrifying... So this chapter basically has a lot of food for thought in it, and I hope you enjoy it. I'm really excited about the plot myself. Probably 'cause I just wrote another Derek/Casey scene, and the chapter it's in is very close to Christmas Eve. Tantalizingly so, even though most of the chapter will be about random things, like Edwin's relationships with his family and all that. And maybe a bit more D/C time. We'll see.

Also, off-topicish, but who really reads these things anyways? I realize the fact that this fic has Lizzie's feelings for Derek as a key part of the plot, but that doesn't stop Lizzie/Derek fics from bothering me. Well, most of them, not all of them. The pairing isn't the thing that really bugs me, though. It's how out of character people feel they need to make either Lizzie or Derek to make the pairing happen/seem plausible. Like Derek, for instance, those fics always have him paying Liz a lot more attention than he actually does, and making awkward comments about her appearance that Derek just wouldn't say. So Derek comes off smarmy and skeevish. But Lizzie's probably worse because almost all Liz/Derek fics inevitably make her some superficial, vain sort of creature who turns into a slut to attract Derek's attention. And yes, I do realize the irony in me saying this... But what I mean is that Lizzie becomes some vapid individual, wearing trashy clothes and doing things completely unlike her, basically changing her entire personality, even as Derek professes appreciating her for her not-Caseyness or low-maintenance or coolness or whatever. And she just likes him because he's hot or whatever, you know, so it's ALWAYS more a lust thing than anything else. And that's gross 'cause Lizzie deserves better (and I'm not even Edwin saying that!).

Annnnnd... oh, yeah, I kinda don't own these guys, except Ed's mystery girl and then the salesgirl. And kinda Sebastian. 'Cause he's way cooler than that lame Simon brat. Oh, and the plot, which is entirely my own creation (and I have to say I'm more than a little proud about that!). Anyways, read and weep (nah, enjoy!). Love you guys, as always.

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**Independent Variable:** The value manipulated for study in an experiment which affects change in other variables while managing not to be altered by them.

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I knew things were going to change when Casey finally arrived, but I had no idea that I would wind up in a bridal shop trying on a monkey suit before the day was even halfway through. We'd all expected Casey to show up at home sometime around lunch. However, they had stopped by Noel's parents' house first. She called us instead from the car, asking Nora and Lizzie out to lunch and sweetly informing them that she had scheduled an appointment at a local bridal shop immediately afterwards, having allotted them barely sixty minutes for lunch. Nora and Lizzie hurried to get ready to meet Casey at Smelly Nelly's. Unfortunately, however, Casey called less than thirty minutes later, saying that some kind of family emergency had come up with Noel's sister, and he'd been called away to help sort it out. Casey's exact words: "Can you bring Edwin? I need a man's opinion, and I don't know how long Noel's going to be."

Needless to say, Nora and Lizzie decided the answer to this for me, mostly out of a desire to not anger Casey. Lizzie gave me an apologetic look, but I knew Casey too, and I didn't really have a choice. That didn't mean, however, that I was by any means happy with being forced to go see Casey try on wedding dresses. I gave Lizzie a look, mouthing "you owe me." She nodded, looking a bit grateful that I would be coming with her, as trying on dresses with Casey was, in Lizzie's words, "about as much fun as picking at a hangnail." I knew it was going to be a hard and long day, so I spent most of the ten-minute car ride thinking about what Lizzie and I could do afterwards for fun. It had been a long time since Casey was in the house, and when she and Derek were together, it was stifling to live with them. They both had this way of sucking all the air out of a room.

Lunch itself was boring. Casey ate some insubstantial salad, giving some excuse about needing to slim down a bit to fit into a dress. She spent most of the time droning on about wedding plans or Noel. I had a big juicy burger and thanked any potential higher power that Derek was not working at that particular time. Halfway through lunch, I started playing games on my cell phone out of sheer boredom. Lizzie and Nora didn't eat too much either, as they were both preoccupied and a little nervous. It was almost a relief to head to the bridal shop because that meant Casey would have to stop talking.

When we walked inside, an obsequious salesgirl came up to Casey and asked her what she was looking for. Casey smugly informed her that she was looking for a wedding dress, and the salesgirl, now with a strained smile, asked her which types she was interested in. Casey's exact words: "Pure white, princess-style, gown-length, with a sweetheart neckline, and hmm, perhaps made of organza... I want a fabric that's breathable and comfortable, delicate, gauzy, and flexible, yet also quality and strong enough to hold up for a while. Classic but romantic, simple but not too boring, traditional yet modern, with a little sparkle and maybe some lace or seed pearls... nothing too tacky. Oh, and maybe a train... and I haven't decided yet on a veil or tiara, so keep that in mind." I mimicked Casey behind her back, miming the things she said she wanted. Lizzie and the salesgirl valiantly attempted to hold back laughter.

Casey whirled around, cognizant of their giggles and half-concealed chuckles, and stared at me. She didn't catch me doing anything, though. I stood stock-still and stared right back at her as if I hadn't just been making fun of her behind her back. Is it really my fault she's so demanding? After all, she was starting to bring out that part of me that was so like Derek it scared me sometimes, and that part of me was more than a little annoyed and wanted to mess with her. The salesgirl ran off to get Casey dresses and thus escape her potential wrath while Casey looked me over appraisingly.

I gave her a quizzical and bewildered look since I was unused to such extreme scrutiny from my elder sister. Also, it kind of looked like she was checking me out, which made me immensely uncomfortable and gave me the familiar and unpleasant sensation of being a stand-in for my older brother. "Hm," Casey mused, eyes still trained on me in that unnerving fashion. It was starting to make me go out of my skin, and I frantically sought Lizzie's eyes. Casey's eyes lit up, and I knew I was in for something unpleasant. "Hey, Ed, why don't you try on a tuxedo?" she requested cheerfully, giving me a saccharine smile. It was clear to me that this was more of an order than a request.

Nonetheless, I stared at her, dumbfounded, for a moment, not quite understanding where she was going with this. Casey stared at me expectedly and grew frustrated when I didn't respond. She huffed out a breath, tucking some side-bangs behind her ear irritably. "Well, I want to see what one would look like on Noel, and he's not here!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot and pouting at me. She reminded me of Marti's princess act, and it was equally unlikely to work on me. I raised a brow and stared her down, causing Casey to come over to me and put her arm around me. "After all, Ed, you're kinda built the same, right? And we need a tux for you anyway, so you might as well..." she urged, rubbing my shoulder. I instinctively shied away from her, feeling kind of odd and uncomfortable around her. It was like she was trying to manipulate me.

Seeing that wasn't going to make me more likely to do what she said, Casey turned to Nora and Lizzie with a vaguely exasperated look on her face, the kind that said she was going to make their lives very unpleasant if they couldn't get me in line. Nora halfheartedly encouraged me to help my sister out, urging me with her eyes. Lizzie didn't want to say anything and risk ticking off either one of us, so she just nodded along with Nora. If she'd asked me, I wouldn't have been able to refuse at all, of course. It was best to just play along with Casey sometimes, and Nora was right. I should help my sister out. Also, Casey could make me do worse things, after all, if I didn't acquiesce to this relatively little demand. I sighed and turned to Casey. "Fine."

Casey beamed and jumped up to hug me in an impromptu crushing embrace, winding her arms around my neck. She pulled me so close to her that it was hard to breathe and rather more like a chokehold than a hug. "Thanks so much, Edwin! You're the best brother ever!" she squealed, pulling away slightly to kiss me messily on the cheek and smooth my hair a little. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her neuroses and attempted to subtly wiggle free from her embrace. Lizzie was giggling in the corner, and I glowered at her, envying her freedom, with my arms full of an emotional Casey.

When the salesgirl came back and saw us, she cleared her throat loudly and said primly, "Excuse me, miss... I don't mean to interrupt you and your fiancé, but I've got your dresses to try on here." I gaped at her, unable to believe I'd just been mistaken for Casey's future husband. I'm not even the right stepbrother for this job! I'm four years younger than she is! I can practically count the number of times Casey and I have ever been alone in a room together.

Casey promptly pulled away, glancing at me once and then looking at the salesgirl like she was insane. She very nearly knocked me over in her attempt to push me away from her. The repugnance showed very clearly on her face, but she eventually collected herself and managed a strained smile. "Oh, _he's_ not my fiancé. He's my **stepbrother**, and he's still in high school. That's disgusting," she corrected disdainfully. I found it odd that she used the distinction with the girl, since she'd just said I was the best brother ever. The salesgirl flushed, and Lizzie just barely managed to suppress laughter (Casey threw her a murderous look, indicating that she did not find this mistake in any way humorous and, thus, neither could Lizzie). Then Casey raised her chin up haughtily, snatched the dresses from the girl, and headed off to the dressing rooms.

However, a moment later, after depositing the dresses, I presume, she stomped back over to us. She thumped her hand on my chest with enough force to knock the breath out of me. "Oh, and find him a nice black tuxedo. He and my fiancé are about the same height and build, and he's going to be in the wedding party, so he needs a tux anyway. And I'd like to see something with tails," she declared, addressing the poor salesgirl a bit sharply. She was still annoyed I'd been mistaken for her fiancé, despite the fact that she'd asked me to stand in for him. Then Casey turned on her heel and stalked back to the dressing room, abruptly pulling the curtain across.

The salesgirl told me to wait a minute and then scurried off like a small, scared rodent to find me some tuxedos to try on. She was afraid of Casey already, and she hadn't even seen her truly unattractive sides. I turned to Nora and Lizzie, frowning. "Thanks for selling me up the river," I muttered, annoyed. They both looked at me guiltily and mumbled apologies and excuses. The salesgirl practically came over running back to us, and I scowled at the pile of tuxedos. "What next? A top hat? Is Casey going to make me tap-dance?" I quipped irritably, already picturing it in my head.

Lizzie opened her mouth, ready to say something, but Casey called for some help getting dressed, so she hurried off, throwing me an apologetic look. I sighed and took the tuxedos before heading for a dressing room of my very own. I have always hated clothes shopping, which is why I usually have Lizzie or Nora do it for me. Trying on clothes is so boring and time-consuming, and I really don't care about my appearance or what I'm wearing enough to make the whole experience worth it. I can't even tie a tie properly, and I probably don't even know how to wear half of these articles of clothing, like cummerbunds and garters and corsages and these weird vests!

Nonetheless, I stripped down, put on the pants and then started to button up the shirt. I wasn't even halfway done when Casey yelled for me to come out and to put on the jacket with tails. Of course I had no idea which one this was, so the salesgirl had to help me. Worse still, the tuxedo was far too big, so the pants fell down just as I came out, when Casey was already yelling at me for leaving my shirt halfway open. She then started harping on about how unsuitable my choice of underwear was and asked me if I thought I was Fabio or Enrique Iglesias or someone who has quickies on his lunch break because I apparently looked that disheveled (slash potentially hot). Lizzie was shuddering with silent laughter. "Hey, you know, Liz, when you do that, I can see right down your bra. Nice rack," I retorted a bit nastily while frantically doing up the buttons, knowing that would make her shut up.

Nora gasped and attempted to scold me, but Lizzie beat her to the punch. She had straightened very suddenly so that her back was now like a ruler, and I couldn't see down her shirt anymore, which was a bit unfortunate because it had provided some amusement. "You're one to talk, Ed, given that your beaver's out of his lodge. You could be arrested for indecent exposure! Were you peeing in there or something?" she countered archly, motioning down to my boxers. I glanced down and saw that she was right and that I was currently flashing everyone in the room. Mortified, I quickly jerked up the too large pants and held them firmly around my waist. I think all of us, excepting Lizzie, were blushing.

Our mother hadn't been looking, but her face was bright red with embarrassment. Casey's face was beet red with a combination of rage and mortification that none of this was going the way it was supposed to. My own face felt hot as I turned around to adjust myself. As I turned around, however, I caught the salesgirl staring at me, face faintly flushed, but with a look of undisguised desire. She licked her lips, probably in a way that wasn't even flirtatious, and I felt decidedly uncomfortable once more. Then again, embarrassing myself in such a way, much less in front of the family is, at this point, really par for the course, and at least this time I didn't have an erection. It could've been worse.

Casey made a strangled sort of noise and shooed me back into the dressing room, muttering something about how tails looked dreadful and ran completely counter to... whatever it was she was trying to achieve through this wedding, whatever big idea it was centered around. I was too focused on surviving and keeping my pants up to listen. Once inside, I immediately dropped the pants and chucked them and the stupid jacket outside. I know it's not the salesgirl's job to clean up after me, but sue me because I didn't care. I ripped the shirt off, maybe damaging a button or two in the process, and then proceeded to try on another tuxedo, as per Casey's shrill demand. This one was apparently more modern and classical, according to the salesgirl. However, I'm not sure I believe that, since it was a pale blue and had a frilly shirt underneath that screamed seventies.

I emerged reluctantly from the dressing room and only because Casey demanded to see what I looked like. The entire outfit was too small and looked like something I could've found in Dad's closet. The shirt wouldn't close, making me look like the prom king in a seventies porn flick, and the pants were entirely too short and too tight, so much so that I now had some idea of how Jamie felt on a daily basis. I must say, no wonder he's so effeminate sometimes; the skinny jeans must really restrict his unfortunate sperm production. He'll probably be infertile later on in life because of this. Oh well, only the evolutionary fit reproduce, right?

As I stepped out, Casey immediately frowned, and Nora respectfully averted her eyes. I shook my head at my own ridiculousness, and Lizzie burst out into loud, disruptive laughter. "You... you... look like a mar-mar-mariachi!" she cried breathlessly between guffaws. I glowered at her, hands on my hips, and the shirt stretched even further, popping two buttons. The salesgirl was staring with interest that apparently only I noticed, and Casey cringed. Lizzie thought this was hilarious and bent over laughing her head off.

Casey gave the salesgirl a withering stare, crossing her arms angrily over her chest. "Did I say anything about pastels?" She paused here for a moment, and the poor salesgirl didn't know whether to speak or not. Her indecision was her undoing, because Casey continued furiously, tossing her hands in the air, "No! I _said_ black! What part of "black," as in coal, tar, night, and death, do you not understand? He looks like a twelve-year-old at his first dance! In the seventies! I can't have anyone, much less the groom, looking like that at my wedding!" Once again, she shooed me back to the dressing room, hand over her eyes, the beginnings of a migraine no doubt beginning to form.

When Lizzie pulled it together, she managed to shout, "Nice pecs! Who knew you were strong enough to break a shirt open when you flexed!" This caused me to almost tear the pants I was attempting to wriggle out of. It took me at least five minutes to get out of that ridiculous get-up, and Casey, ever the drill sergeant, barked at me to get into a "decent-looking one" for a change, as if she thought I was deliberately making myself look ridiculous because embarrassing myself and being a clown in front of my female family members and a stranger was fun for me.

This time, I paid careful attention to the tuxedos, examining them carefully for size and potential ridiculousness. I found one that looked quality, amazingly enough, and started to put it on, hoping Casey would be satisfied with it and wouldn't make me try anything else on. When I emerged, looking, I thought, pretty decent, Casey was, oddly, nowhere to be found. I turned to Lizzie, silently asking where Casey was, and she wordlessly motioned back to her dressing room before guiding me to the podium where, she whispered, Casey would want me to stand, waiting. I felt really awkward standing on a podium, literally elevated above everyone else, like some kind of Roman statue or table centerpiece. I hated the feeling of all those impatient eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move and every fold of my outfit.

Guiltily, I realized I hadn't been paying any attention to what Casey was wearing, although I'd heard her mutter things about dresses like "too many feathers" and "what is this stain?" and "good Lord, am I supposed to be a disco ball here?" and "I don't want to look like a hooker!" and "I'm sorry, did I _say_ I was having the wedding in New Jersey?" There were kinder, softer comments too, of course, but I was too busy getting in and out of clothes to pay much attention. While I waited, Lizzie whispered to me that I cleaned up nice. Casey came out wearing a rather large dress that made her look like an albino peacock. I fortunately do not know much about dresses, but I thought it looked a little lopsided but otherwise all right.

Casey appeared fairly indifferent at first, but when she came out and saw me, she frowned once more and looked disappointed. Oh great, I thought, what have I done to screw up this time? Casey motioned Lizzie over, cocking her head and gazing up at me. "I can't decide if he looks more like a widower or a schoolteacher," she remarked, which I supposed was her way of saying I looked old, unattractive, and boring in it.

Lizzie shrugged, looking me over. "I don't think he looks so bad," she pronounced slowly, giving me a small smile. I admired her a little for trying to help me out, but I knew there was no way Casey would agree. Casey gave her sister an annoyed look and looked between Lizzie and me. The thought was clear: "what are you smoking, Liz?" Lizzie cleared her throat a little anxiously. "Well, you said you wanted something kind of... vintage and dignified-looking for Noel. And I think it's really... smart-looking. Unique," Lizzie continued bravely. She flashed me a real smile. "It suits him." I allowed myself the barest of smiles.

"For Edwin, maybe, but not Noel. Not with that _horrible_ pattern. It looks like tweed," Casey said pointedly, reminding Lizzie full well who the groom was. She proceeded to scoff loudly, waving her hand dismissively. "Besides, I want to marry Mr. Darcy, not Sherlock Holmes!" she interjected, defending herself from the words Lizzie had quoted to her from one of their many phonecalls. Lizzie gave me a helpless look, shoulders sagging in defeat. At least she'd tried; I'd appreciated the effort. Casey's frown became a scowl again as she gestured dismissively towards my outfit. "Either way, Ichabod Crane here looks like he's going to a funeral! Maybe his _own_ if Edwin can't find anything decent!" she snapped, pulling me off of the pedestal and practically throwing me into the dressing room again.

She had an arm like her sister, I'll tell you. Rubbing my arm, which she'd just about yanked out of the socket, I could see how Casey sometimes manhandled Derek. Inside, I searched through the stack for the most boring tuxedo I could find. This was a hard decision, but I figured Casey would appreciate something boringly traditional. So, after a quick game of "Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe," I decided on a tux and put it on, smoothing it out so Casey could have no potential complaints. Then I took a deep breath and stepped outside. This time the salesgirl led me up to the podium with stars in her eyes. "I probably shouldn't be saying this, but you're totally hot. You should pick that one," she said quietly, leaning in a little closer than she needed to in order to say this. A wide smile spread across her face and she absently fixed my hair, smoothing my bangs. "You smell nice," she murmured dreamily.

Don't get me wrong, the salesgirl was cute and everything, and I did smell nice (thanks to Lizzie) but that was _so_ not the time or place. Plus, I'd been sweating all over all those stupid suits and shirts Casey had me in, and I felt disgusting, tired, and mildly objectified. Casey threw open the curtain just then and caught the salesgirl more or less fawning over me (wow, I feel like such a douche when I say that, but that's what was actually _happening_), she just about had a conniption fit. "He's only eighteen! GROW UP! You have a _job_ to do here, and it's not drooling over my kid brother!" Casey snapped. Lightning crackled from her eyes, and believe me, she wasn't the only one pissed at the salesgirl. I glanced over at Lizzie for her reaction, and she was glaring daggers at the virtual stranger.

The salesgirl jumped, terrified of my sister's rage, but I'd already moved away from her by that point. However, the girl did not look entirely discouraged, because she winked at me after Casey said I was eighteen (and thus legal). Casey tore her burning gaze away from the salesgirl and peered up at me. For a long moment, she was completely silent, and I feared I'd managed to screw up even more monumentally, even after picking the dullest suit I could find. I started to get down from the pedestal, resigning myself to having to find another suit, but I was stopped by Casey's hand on my arm.

I gave her a questioning look, and Casey pursed her lips. "That, actually... looks pretty good," she said, stunning me into silence. She walked around me, examining the seams and me in the outfit with a level of scrutiny that made me very uncomfortable, especially given how close she was to me. I kind of jumped when she touched the fabric every now and then, rubbing it between her fingers to see how it felt and held up. When she pulled back the sleeves of the jacket to look at the shirt I was wearing, I almost fell backwards and would have had Lizzie not caught me and kept me upright. "It's the right color... the right size... the right cut... Exactly what I was going for," Casey continued, pausing the barest of moments before hollering, "Hey, Mom, Liz, come over here and tell me what you think!"

Nora and Liz flocked to Casey's side like birds. Nora smiled and said she thought I looked handsome. Lizzie agreed, giving me two thumbs up, and exclaimed, "If we gave you a bow tie and a martini, you'd be James Bond." I snorted, but Casey agreed I looked distinguished, "and that's something I never thought I would say." I wanted to do something to shatter that illusion, but they sensed it. Nora got a bit teary-eyed and commented that I'd grown up so fast and that all of her children were growing up so fast, and she touched our cheeks and wound up hugging all of us and trying not to cry. She didn't succeed, but fortunately the Maid of Honor had tissues for just this very sort of occasion.

I had barely managed to escape from the emotional girly moment I'd just witnessed, but there was no way I could escape from the one that was to follow when we were all told to look at Casey and give our opinions. I totally made something up because the dress wasn't half-bad, but obviously Casey wasn't too into it. She still looked pretty and everything, but even I knew it wasn't her dress. So Casey sighed, firmly instructing me to stay, and went back into the dressing room with Lizzie to try on another dress.

As I stood there, listening to the sounds of fabric rustling, waiting for her to come out in some new dress, it struck me just how surreal this whole situation was. This is so screwed up... and not the sort of screwed up that my family normally is, but an entirely new level of dysfunction and disturbance. Me, standing in for the groom at my sister's wedding, even if it's not at the ceremony. Someone please shoot me. _Please_. A moment later, I turned as I heard the curtain be pulled back. Casey emerged with Lizzie carrying her train. The dress she was wearing was pure white, soft and shiny, as per her orders. The dress was strapless, the skirt round and full, fanning out into an unnatural gravity-defying bell-shape, rather like some varieties of flowers. Different kinds of subtle embellishments adorned it here and there: a bit of lace, some tulle, rosettes, well-placed crystals, and beads. Layers and layers of soft spongy material wrapped around her waist, the endless ruffles, flounces, and folds serving to highlight the smallness of her waist and providing built-in cushioning in case of an accident. She was gorgeous and beaming, practically flushing with pride and joy as her dress glinted here and there in the light. The look on her face was pure rapture. "I think this is the One," she murmured to Lizzie.

That is, until she saw me, at any rate. Unfortunately enough, I seem to have that effect on women. When she saw me standing there in the tux, she did a poorly-concealed double-take that bewildered me. After all, she'd certainly seen me before, standing in this very place, wearing this same outfit. This time, however, she wasn't all wound up. She'd slipped into some strange sort of calm mood that I suppose comes with finding the right dress and being certain about it, and as soon as she took one look at me, she got totally freaked. At first I wondered why, but then I saw the look she was giving me and pieced it together. Obviously she was overwhelmed because of my alarmingly strong resemblance to both Truman _and_ Derek. I glanced at myself in one of the mirrors, silently confirming the theory. Seriously, I look like I could be Truman's younger brother rather than Derek's!

Nonetheless, a mildly petrified Casey swallowed hard and walked up to me slowly, carefully. It was hard to move in a dress like that, heavy and mildly inflexible, so she could only take small steps in her heels anyway. She held out a hand, and I took it and helped her up onto the podium next to me. Casey turned her head away and pointedly didn't look at me, even though we were less than a foot away from each other and her dress was constantly brushing against my clothes. She focused instead on the many mirrors, carefully scrutinizing her flawless appearance from all angles.

We'd all been very distracted by trying the clothes on, of course, so we (by which I mean Casey and I) failed to notice Nora calling someone. I'm not quite sure who called who, as all of the phone call took place when I was putting this suit on, but either way, he was called in to do some sort of favor or errand that Nora couldn't do herself. I think he was supposed to bring something, like some sort of wedding-related item or one of Nora's design booklets with the paint chips and fabric swatches. Either way, as Casey and the girls were oohing and ahhing over her dress, commenting and examining it reverently, a visitor came into the shop.

Despite the mirrors, Casey was standing with her back to the door, trying to look at the back of the dress. I was looking at her but turned when I heard the bell above the door sound. In the doorway stood my brother, random object in hand, looking completely out of place and more uncomfortable than I could recall ever seeing him. This was before he'd even seen Casey. His eyes studiously seemed to ignore the exact space of air where she was so carefully positioned as he entered, gradually allowing himself to let his guard down and become more comfortable. Then he saw her, and Derek froze like a deer in headlights, horrified as if Casey in a wedding dress was a ghostly figure from a nightmare. His face changed color like a flash of aluminum. The look on his face got even _worse_ when he saw us standing side by side. He looked as if he was going to be physically ill. I was actually kind of surprised he didn't run right back out of there. But I guess my brother is too cool for that.

Some small noise or perhaps the eerie silence of the bridal salon made Casey turn around. She whirled around in her big, white, ridiculously large princess dress, and saw Derek, who was still staring at her dumbly, struck uncharacteristically silent by the sight of her. She was still smiling radiantly and laughing as she turned around. He'd managed to look a bit less green, and the stunned expression remained on his face for only one moment more before he reactivated the mask we were used to seeing. The tension peaked almost instantaneously, and we had our first dramatic moment. Casey blanched even more than he had; she was almost as white as the wedding dress she was trying on. Our sister, usually somewhat unsteady on her feet, wobbled dangerously once then twice. The second wobble knocked her off her axis, upsetting her center of gravity, and sent her falling backwards. I reached for her once I realized what was happening, but my hand slipped off her arm.

We were certainly all prepared for the ugly (but hardly unexpected) sight of Casey falling head over heels and landing on the ground in an ungraceful, indelicate heap, but, surprisingly, that wasn't what happened. My fast-thinking brother came to his senses, and in the blink of an eye, he'd seemingly dashed across the room and positioned himself directly behind our falling sister. It seemed impossible that he could make it there so quickly, but Casey took her sweet time falling, flailing and shrieking, the same way she did everything. Timing is everything, and my brother has always had perfect timing and the gift for finding those opportune moments that Life chose to throw his way. All the time. I'm not bitter about that or anything.

In this case, Derek deftly caught Casey around the waist and arms, and he made it look effortless. One hand wrapped itself firmly around her waist, pulling her back into him, steadying her with the full force of his strength and weight, anchoring her like the roots of a tree. The other hand came up over her arm, pinning it to her side, and joining with the hand that held her waist. Casey was completely frozen at first, eyes closed and stiff as a board, bracing herself for the fall which never came. She opened her eyes when she felt his grip, realizing she wasn't going to fall, and didn't even struggle at first. She didn't realize it was _him_, after all. I suppose she must've thought she was hallucinating, seeing him there, and she figured one of the others had her.

She was heavy with all of the dress' added weight and slipping in Derek's arms, so he shifted her closer to him, positioning her higher in his arms. His head was quite close to her face then, and I saw that familiar smirk spread across his face. It was such a familiar and missed gesture that a forgotten thrill ran through me. He was _enjoying_ this, feeding off of the energy of the moment, I realized a moment later when he nuzzled Casey's cheek with his nose. It was more of a mocking gesture than an affectionate one. He murmured something then, eyes closed briefly, but it was too soft for me to hear whatever it was.

At first I didn't think Casey had heard it either, but I knew she had once she stiffened in his arms, alarmed and mildly petrified-looking. Then Derek's hands were moving as if of their own accord, as if the motion were perfectly natural. His left hand slithered up her body, carefully bypassing the beads and crystals and finding a breast, while the right one pressed down firmly into her hip, sliding down and across her waist a little. Something electric passed between them in that moment, and they were both still. Derek was testing her, maybe, or maybe it was just this moment of shock where neither was unable to believe what the other was doing. I could not help but gape and wonder if I was the only one seeing this: Derek was feeling Casey up, drinking in the sight of it with a positively wicked smile on his lips!

It wasn't just what Derek was doing either, but _how_ he was doing it. He seemed perfectly comfortable touching Casey like this, as if he thought he had every right... perhaps as if he'd done it before? But, no, of course he couldn't... that was ridiculous, right? Either way, the moment didn't last very long. Redness blossomed on her cheeks like juice stains, and the outrage she was feeling appeared immediately. She turned her head back to look at him, and Derek grinned down at her cockily with malice and charm and the darkest hints of something else glittering in his eyes. Then she ripped his arms off of her with her free hand and jerked away from him as if she'd been burned, nearly jumping forward and knocking into me in her haste to get away from him.

She turned into me, just about, looking for protection, and then smoothed her dress protectively, not glancing at Derek once. But Casey was so close that I could see her chest heaving, the mild pink flush that didn't leave her body, and the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly. She was so close I could hear her rapid breaths and even more rapid heartbeat, could practically feel her pulse thundering in fear or whatever emotion it was. And I wasn't fooled at all by the face she put on. "Long time no see, Klutzilla," Derek drawled without missing a beat, as if no time had passed at all. The nickname slipped off his tongue with familiarity, as if he'd called her that every day for the past four years. He picked up right where they'd left off, still grinning.

"Not near long enough," Casey muttered under her breath, scowling at him. She was smoothing her dress almost obsessively, staring straight ahead, eyes jumping from mirror to mirror. The frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortably. She sighed, running her hands through her hair, and then turned back to look at her sister and mother, deflating. "I can't wear this one! It's _cursed_ now!" Casey whined, even though she'd been almost set on it moments earlier, stomping her foot and wobbling dangerously. She turned around to glower at Derek, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting.

Derek reached out for her and grabbed her arm, steadying her somewhat but also pulling her towards him. "Now, now, Casey... be careful. Wouldn't want to fall on your wedding day," Derek taunted, leaning in still closer. That infuriating grin was still firmly in place on his lips. It amazed me how he maintained his composure.

Casey struggled with him, trying to pull her arm away. Her eyes blazed with fury. "Der-_EK_! Stop breathing down my neck!" she shouted, transporting us all back into the past, smacking him in the chest and shoving him backwards with an aggression I think we'd all forgotten she'd possessed. This Casey was different yet familiar at the same time. I knew her once, but I didn't know her now.

My brother has never been one to let himself be pushed around, and he has never been one to let Casey best him, even when she's got him. So Derek tightened his grip on her arm, pulling her back with him, almost yanking her over the edge of the pedestal. It looked hard enough to leave a bruise, judging by the looks on their faces. It would've been easy to pull her too far, to drop her arm and make her fall, but my brother didn't do that. He held her there, suspended, and leaned in to sneer in her face, eyes locking with hers. "What, Case, you don't like it? Or is it because it's giving you goosebumps?"

What he meant to say: because _I_ give you goosebumps, and you don't like the feeling. You don't like feeling anything from me. It's funny, the things you can tell about your family members after so much time away.

She jerked her head back, away from him, and twisted her arm away, stumbling into me. Then she shook her head, as if trying to forget what had just happened with Derek. "I can't wear this dress. Not now," she murmured, starting to claw at the back of it, as if she was that desperate to get it off. I glanced over at Derek and saw the predatory yet disappointed way he was still looking at her, like shark or lion who'd caught whiff of fresh blood. The kill, however, eluded him.

Nora and Lizzie were no doubt as startled and perplexed by what they'd just witnessed as I was, and they were dumbfounded for a long time. Then they started to try and get her to reconsider. They moved closer to her like one unit. "Casey, the dress is _perfect_. Exactly what you wanted," Nora said encouragingly, trying to get Casey to smile. "What you've always wanted... You look beautiful, honey," she continued, smiling, stepping closer to Casey. She reached up to take Casey's arm, the one that wasn't still red from Derek's hand, eyes still a little misty. "He's going to love it. You'll be so happy," she murmured sincerely.

Those were the fatal words, apparently, because something in both Casey and Derek's eyes hardened. She shook her head hard, hand slipping from Nora's so easily. "This isn't what I want," she snapped. Her eyes were elsewhere, not on Nora's. The salesgirl, who had been off somewhere during part of this, having realized we were having a sort of family event, sensed she was about to lose a sale and was forced to step in. She approached Casey cautiously, still intimidated by her.

She smiled sweetly, though it was a strained smile. "Miss, that dress looks amazing on you. It would be _criminal_ not to buy it. And I'm not just saying that because I'm paid on commission. It's a good choice. Comfortable and gorgeous. You can't find anything better in London," she said softly, knowing just how to flatter her. Casey frowned, not at all convinced. She refused to even look at herself in the mirror. The salesgirl's smile fell a little, but she pressed on bravely, forcing herself to smile. "If I may offer my opinion, miss, you should buy it. Your fiancé really seems to like the dress. He hasn't been able to take his eyes off of you since he got here. I know it's bad luck for the groom to see the wedding dress before the wedding, but I've never seen a groom look at a bride like that before. I don't think he'll mind," she replied in a voice that conveyed intimacy, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. She only made one mistake, and that was the fact that she was gesturing to Derek and referring to him.

Casey gaped at her for a minute, _horrified_ that the salesgirl thought Derek, of all people, was her fiancé. "He is not now nor will he **ever** be my fiancé! I can do a hell of a lot better than that!" Casey snarled furiously, gesturing at Derek stiffly. Derek's jaw clenched; the only sign that he was in any way upset with what she was saying. His eyes still glinted with the traces of amusement that remained from the salesgirl's mistake. "How could you even think that _I_would marry this idiot? Maybe if you spent less time assuming and offering your opinion and more time picking out dresses, you would actually sell something. Now go get me some dresses before you assume that I'm getting married to my little sister or my mom!" Casey railed, disgust heavy in her voice, clapping her hands abruptly to banish the poor salesgirl from her sight.

The startled and confused salesgirl, who was now terrified of Casey, fled to the stockroom to find more dresses, muttering, "But he's even better looking than the other one!" My lips turned down at the corners at that. We're a little much for anyone.

Still, I couldn't help but notice that, despite denying she was engaged to Derek or would marry him, she _didn't_ say that he was her stepbrother as she had when the salesgirl thought we were engaged. Then Casey turned back to Nora and Lizzie, stone-faced, arms crossed over her chest like a barrier. "I'm not going to wear this. I can't wear a dress like this... not at my wedding. I don't want something like this... It's cursed," she continued, sounding a bit more hysterical by the moment. She looked to Lizzie almost pleadingly. "Help me get out of this dress. I have to get it off," she insisted firmly. "Now!" Casey barked.

I frowned at Casey, feeling like I was missing something. She was almost set on this dress before my brother showed up, but now she doesn't want anything to do with it because it's "cursed." She was being ridiculous, and I wanted her to know that. "Why is it _cursed_, Casey? Because Derek saw you in it?" I asked pointedly, wondering if I'd actually get an answer. It was just like asking Derek about Casey, actually. She turned to look at me and glared, looking offended and insulted that I'd even asked such a question. "It's not like you're marrying _Derek_, right?" I added a bit irritably, already annoyed at having to put up with their inability to behave around each other.

Derek and Casey both froze when I said that, and Derek gave me an odd, curious, searching sort of look. I didn't even have to look at Lizzie to know her eyes were wide and urging me to be quiet and say nothing more. I wasn't going to go easy on my brother or her sister. Casey glared at me, searching for some lame response to my question. She found a suitable one a few moments later. "Derek _ruins_ everything, and I'm **not** going to let him ruin my wedding too!" she screamed in a fit of emotion, stepping down off the podium and pushing Derek aside, dress bouncing with each step. "Now get out of my way!" she shouted in his face, pushing past him towards the dressing room. He didn't attempt to hide the way he stared after her, lost in thought. I wondered if she'd just given him an idea; Derek was never one to turn down a challenge, and there had certainly been a challenge implicit in her vehement refusal to let Derek ruin her wedding. When she was halfway there, she whirled around and fixed her eyes on Lizzie. "Lizzie! Help me out of my dress! Now!"

Derek allowed himself to scowl as soon as Casey had closed the curtain. He stood there for a moment, then bent down to pick up the binder he'd dropped to catch Casey, and walked over to Nora, presenting it to her. "Here's the thing you needed," he muttered, casting a quick glance at the rustling curtain. "Normally I'd stick around, but I think I'm gonna _puke_ if I see Casey in another one of those puffy princess monstrosities. I can barely suppress my gag reflex as it is," he spat, all for show, heading towards the exit. "See you at home, Nora." He nodded at me, and I nodded back, despite feeling that it was a stupid gesture of acknowledgment. "Ed."

He walked briskly to the door, and, upon opening it, literally ran into Noel. Noel was happy to see Derek, but Derek was considerably less than thrilled to see him. At that very moment, Noel was probably the _one_ person in the universe Derek least wanted to see. Noel smiled, patting Derek on the shoulder. "Hey, Derek, good to see you! How are you?" Derek's face was expressionless but tight, thinly concealing his irritation. He made some sort of vague, grumpy gesture and avoided saying anything in return.

Derek motioned to the dressing room beyond his shoulder with his thumb, moving his shoulder subtly so Noel's hand fell off of it. "Casey's back there. She's _changing," _he said shortly, still on edge from his unsatisfying encounter with Casey. Judging by the bitterness in Derek's voice, the latter part of his statement had taken on a particular additional meaning. He brushed past Noel abruptly.

However, just at that moment, right before I was going to say hi to my future-brother-in-law, Lizzie came out and dragged me into Casey's dressing room, saying that she wasn't strong enough to unzip Casey's dress. I had some trouble believing this, as Lizzie is the strongest girl (and one of the strongest people) I know, but I carefully unzipped it anyway. The dress fell to the ground, and I stepped away uncomfortably. Lizzie rolled her eyes at me, giving me a look, like I was immature for being weirded out being so close to my sister in her underwear. Casey reached for another dress, one that was entirely unlike the one she wanted, short and sheathlike, rather unfitting for a wedding dress, and started to slip into it.

I was still standing close to my skin-baring elder sister when someone opened the curtain. How do I always wind up in these awkwardly suggestive positions? "Um, sorry to burst your bubble, Noel, but it looks like Casey's found a new groom in your absence," a laughing, familiar voice called. We all turned our heads towards the light to see a tall, pale brunette holding the curtain. Casey frowned and zipped up the dress quickly, pushing past me and the girl standing in the way.

"What?" Noel exclaimed, moving towards the dressing rooms, looking a bit shocked. Casey shot the girl a poisonous dirty look and headed past her to embrace her confused fiancé. She greeted Noel with a warm kiss, and Noel forgot entirely what the girl had said. Speaking of the girl, she was currently lounging in the doorway of the dressing room, still holding on to the white satiny curtain and watching Noel and Casey. I wanted to leave, so I bent my head and attempted to go under her arm with Lizzie. However, the top of my head brushed her arm, and she suddenly turned her head to face me, turning the full force of her penetrating gaze on me. And, oh, I _knew_ those eyes.

I ducked back and thrust Lizzie forward, under her arm, in my place. Liz frowned at the rough treatment and threw me a confused look, but I simply released her hand. I was watching the other girl. She cocked her head, looking at me as if she couldn't place me or recognize me. "Hey, wait..." she began slowly, still looking me over. Her voice was just as I remembered, sweet, raspy, with a tang. "Edwin, is that you?" she asked disbelievingly. I nodded slowly, and her eyes widened, lips forming into that candy apple smile I knew so well. "Oh my **God**! What on Earth are you doing here?" she exclaimed, just about tackling me in a warm and powerful embrace that knocked me back a few steps. I was taken off-guard by her enthusiastic embrace, but I should've been prepared. She'd always been enthusiastic, never one to do anything half-assed.

"Casey's my sister," I muttered, slowly wrapping my arms around her. She frowned a little, giving me a questioning look. "_Step_-sister," I elaborated, and she nodded. It was nice and familiar, comfortable the way it had always been. Her body pressed against mine, soft and cool. It was good to feel that again. I smelled that vaguely naughty aroma of licorice and vanilla, mingling with the berries and wild flowers of her shampoo. It didn't seem like she'd changed one bit since I'd last seen her.

She pulled back a little to look at me and laughed. She'd always had a great laugh, the kind that rang out like a bell, sharp and musical. "Oh. I'm Noel's sister, then," she said, sounding a bit surprised as she said it. There was always a sense of comedy with her. I rolled my eyes. I hadn't exactly figured this out, but obviously they had the same last name and she'd showed up to the dress fitting with him, so it was more or less understood. I really should've figured it out much earlier since there was a pronounced resemblance and similarity in their features and coloring. "It's so good to see you, Ed!" she said enthusiastically, hugging me to her again, pressing a kiss to my cheek, a little too close to my lips.

I smiled at her fondly, surprised at the zing I felt where she kissed me. "Likewise, Zoë. You look good," I replied, pulling away from her slowly to get a better look at her. Her hair was long, jet black, and glossy, mostly straight but curling up at the tips, wavier with longer bangs than I remembered. She was wearing a black leather jacket, short lavender cotton sundress, wide black belt, and black leather combat boots that emphasized the slenderness of her waist and seemingly endless length of her bare, perfect legs. She had always looked best in violet. It was an indoor outfit, horribly suited to the weather outside, but she could be positively cold-blooded when she wanted to be. Zoë was so beautiful, all long, bony limbs, ivory, almost translucent skin, and dark hair, that she had this way of seeming deceptively fragile at first, before you knew who really she was.

Quite honestly, Zoë was perhaps the most fascinating person I'd ever met. I can't even describe it, but everything about her was extraordinary. I'd never known anyone like her, and I'd been surprised when she'd been interested in me all those years ago, but maybe she saw something in me I didn't see in myself. I glanced down at her neck, seeing a flash of light there. The cube-shaped piece of crystal rested in the hollow of her neck and glinted at me from its position, tilted on the chain—clear and sharp. It was my graduation present to her, and I was surprised she still wore it. She saw where I was looking and smiled, toying with the chain. "You too, Ed. Better than I remembered," she replied, flicking her eyes over me casually and giving me that wicked, sharp smile _I_ remembered. I realized then that our faces were still really close and her arms still rested lightly around the back of my neck. It was easy to get sucked into the moment. We had history, after all.

Behind us, Noel cleared his throat, but it barely registered. "You two know each other?" he asked pointedly. I glanced over my shoulder and saw he was closer than he'd been before. He and Casey had separated some, but he still had his arm wrapped around her waist. Both of them were giving us curious looks, no doubt wondering what we were talking about and why we were standing so close. I couldn't really blame them. I'd never known she was Noel's sister, and she didn't know I was Casey's stepbrother. I'd never told anyone about us, not that Casey was even around then.

Seeing Zoë had brought back a rush of emotions I was entirely unprepared to deal with. I hadn't thought they'd gone away, per se, but with Zoë and I, it had never really been that serious. I guess I'd forgotten how much I admired her. I didn't even want to think about what Lizzie was undoubtedly thinking, of the questions she must have, or of the way she was going to react once she got me alone. It was hard to move away from Zoë, but I reluctantly pulled myself away from her and stepped away, deciding that the more space there was between us, the better. "Yeah, of course. We went to high school together," I said casually, as if I hadn't just been pressed against her.

Noel gave me a skeptical, sort of concerned look, like he was worried about his sister. Clearly that answer wasn't enough. Casey was quiet, since she hadn't seen this coming and didn't know what to say. There was no way of predicting what Zoë was going to say. She smirked, and I knew I was in for trouble. "Pretty well, I'd say," she replied huskily, throwing me a flirtatious glance that I'm sure no one in that room missed.

It wasn't quite as suggestive as I feared, but it left lots of room for questions. Noel, still frowning and still bewildered, continued, "But weren't you two years above him?" I had a sneaking suspicion that things were going to get even more awkward. I could feel myself getting sucked back into her, and I was afraid of it. Zoë had been gifted with such a dynamic force, such a vitality, that fighting against her magnetism was virtually impossible.

I smiled awkwardly, but Zoë just looked amused. I knew I had to speak up before she said something inappropriate. "Your sister was kind of a legend around school," I said fondly, foolishly trying to make it seem like I'd known her less... intimately... than I really did. None of it was a lie, at any rate. Zoë Covington _had_ been a legend in high school, and even afterwards, she, like my brother, had a way of persisting as a larger than life figure. Zoë Covington had been a rebel, wild and unrestrained, daring, utterly charming, irreverent and witty, smart and sharp as a tack, bitter and sweet, sarcastic, tough as nails, hard to get close to. She was a force of nature, always in motion, kicking ass and taking names, flouting the rules, smoking in stairwells, prowling the streets at night. She was utterly fearless and didn't give a damn what anyone thought about her.

Noel, who undoubtedly did not have memories quite as fond of this Zoë as I did, was grimacing. Perhaps she'd mellowed in the two years she'd been gone, but I doubted it. "Yeah, and Ed here has the benefit of knowing me better than most," she said with a secretive smile, patting me on the shoulder. I knew exactly where she was headed, correctly read the suggestiveness in her voice. Oh, God, Zoë, _please _don't go there. Not in front of my family. I tried not to look at Zoë, or, for that matter, anyone else.

Her brother undoubtedly would've persisted in asking questions, but he wasn't the one who asked the next one. "Oh, really? Why?" Lizzie cut in, in a voice that was tense and almost biting. My eyes found her, and I could feel the current of her anger even halfway across the room. Her eyes were blazing, but she didn't look at me. She was glowering at Zoë, who, used to the scrutiny and hatred of other girls, was nonplussed, if, indeed, she had even noticed.

This, I could tell, was just the opportunity Zoë had been waiting for. "Well..." she began, stalling purposefully. She met my eyes, tilting her head at me curiously, jerking it towards Liz, grinning a little. "Hey, Ed, is she your girlfriend?" she asked teasingly. I was barely able to resist burying my head in my hands. First I'm mistaken for Casey's fiancé, then I'm mistaken for, as always, Lizzie's boyfriend. Yep, this isn't awkward at _all. _The salesgirl, who had just reappeared with the dresses Casey had requested, also looked interested in the answer to that particular question. I shook my head no emphatically, but Zoë just gave me a skeptical look. "You sure, Eddie? 'Cause if she isn't your girlfriend, she sure looks like she _wants_ to be," Zoë quipped, raising a brow. "It's kind of cute, really."

The strains of Lizzie's fury, which had gone up exponentially as a result of that last comment, could be felt on my skin, strong enough to singe. I threw Zoë a dark look. She really wasn't helping me out here, but then again, I knew Zoë well enough to know that she was never going to take it easy on anyone. It just wasn't in her nature. Zoë liked it complicated. Who knows, maybe that's why she liked me so much? I wondered briefly if perhaps she recognized Lizzie from high school. "She's my sister," I said weakly. God, what my family must be thinking of this!

Zoë frowned; apparently this was not the answer she'd been expecting. "You never told me you had a sister," she murmured, looking a bit put-out. Honestly, I never thought she would care, and it didn't exactly come up. Besides, I didn't tell Lizzie about _her_ either, which was the reason, of course, that Lizzie was currently seething in the corner. She made a biting comment that I'd never mentioned her before either. I just shrugged, and Zoë's attention was diverted back to answering Lizzie's question. "For starters, he's my ex-boyfriend," Zoë pronounced a bit smugly, a far-off look in her eyes, like she was thinking about it.

That wasn't enough for her, of course. "-And he was the only _real_ boyfriend I ever had in high school," she continued a moment later. I scoffed at this because we'd barely been together in high school. We'd had maybe a month and a half together before she graduated. Also, I knew it was a lie because Zoë had actually had several boyfriends in high school, including a few who lasted a lot longer than I did, such as the on-off relationship she had with Jack Fitzgerald, with whom she actually fell in love. The only reason she considered me her only "real" boyfriend was because I'm the only one she considered a decent, serious person.

Nonetheless, I suppose I ought to explain. Everything Zoë's said was, in her own way, true. We met maybe in the middle of my second year of high school, her last year, but really got to know each other towards the end of the year. If memory serves, we got to know each other in long-term detention. We were both in there for pranks, and detention was every day after school for a month. You get to know someone fairly well when you're talking to them every day for a few hours, especially since Zoë would even give me rides home afterwards. There was a mutual interest there, and we eventually started dating towards the very end of that year, maybe a month or two before she graduated.

Zoë was the one who made the first move. She invited me to some lame party that totally wasn't my scene, but I went anyway because I knew she was going to be there. Zoë thought the party was lame like I did, so we ditched it and went out to paint the town red. At first, we were sort of just fooling around, but then I woke up one morning and realized we were more or less an item. It wasn't supposed to be anything serious because it was a relationship with a fixed deadline: her leaving for university. It was just supposed to be a summer fling, like one last hurrah. Both of us wanted to keep it under wraps, though, because I was younger than she was and still kind of a dork, and I knew what my friends would think about me seeing someone like her. They'd congratulate me to my face because she was cool and hot, but they wouldn't approve. Not all facets of Zoë's reputation were positive ones.

We wound up really liking each other, though, more than we expected. We weren't entirely prepared for something like that. I think the relationship was so strong because we were both clinging to things, and we both needed something like that. The relationship had come at just the right moment. We also talked about everything, and it was really nice to just be myself around someone, let alone this beautiful, interesting creature who, for whatever reason, liked me and wanted to talk to me and fool around. She appreciated my sense of humor, had a bitter, sarcastic streak of her own, enjoyed sci-fi, was older and mysterious, and, most importantly, she listened. We thought alike, too, in a way that Lizzie and I don't, and there was just this crazy intense sexual chemistry from pretty much Day One.

It had gotten a bit more serious than we'd meant it to, a bit more emotional than I was used to. Zoë had cried when she left. I hadn't, but I'd inexplicably missed her for about half of Grade Eleven. I'd gotten used to her. Being with her had been comfortable and fun, and it had gotten me out of my head a bit, and I missed those feelings. I also really missed getting laid. Other girls didn't really compare with Zoë; they weren't half as interesting, and none of them got me the way she did. Except for Lizzie, of course. Maybe that's one of the reasons Lizzie and I got so close last year, besides the fact that neither of us dated.

Zoë interrupted my thoughts with a dreamy giggle. "I was kind of half in love with him," she added brightly, unnecessarily, smiling. Those laughing blue-violet eyes caught my gaze and held it for a brief moment. I had often thought those eyes would be the death of me, that that mysterious, knowing stare, the one that said she had a secret, would drive me crazy. I gaped at her for a long time, mouth wide like a whirlpool, because I certainly hadn't known that. Then again, Zoë had always liked saying things to shock you—she was like a bolt of lightning that way, unpredictable, hard to pin down, _electrifying_...

I didn't want to look at our families, but I couldn't look at her anymore. They were all staring at us in shock. Noel might've been mad, but he knew his sister. Nora just stood there, disbelieving, having learned more about my love life than I'm sure she ever wanted to know, even through Zoë's surprisingly vague allusions. Casey was more or less cringing, and when our eyes met, she started glowering at me because I'd undoubtedly just complicated things by having a past relationship with Noel's sister that I'd never mentioned. Also, as I'd gleaned from one of Lizzie's many rants about her annoying phone calls with our sister, Noel's sister was going to be one of Casey's bridesmaids, along with Lizzie, Marti, Emily, and a friend from university.

Of course, I didn't even need to look at Lizzie to know what she was feeling. I could feel the hot waves of irritation she was sending my way. Her eyes seared through me like lasers. I turned back to look at Zoë then rather than meet Lizzie's rage. I couldn't look at her at first, at least, not her face, so I looked down and saw something glint on her finger. It was a diamond solitaire, modest but impressive enough for a twenty-year-old. My eyes shot up to Zoë's face of their own volition. It was hard to believe she'd gotten engaged. I never thought I'd be eighteen and one of my former girlfriends would be engaged to be married, and if you'd told me that Zoë would be that ex-girlfriend, I would never have believed it. It was weird to think that Zoë, the eternal free spirit, was going to be a Mrs. Somebody someday soon. She was too young to settle down, and thinking of Zoë, the Zoë I'd known, at least, being married made my stomach churn unpleasantly.

I shook my head, trying to shake it free of those thoughts. What business was it of mine that Zoë was engaged? It wasn't my concern, and I was nothing more than an ex-boyfriend, not even out of high school... and why does this feel so weird? I couldn't help but wonder if the family emergency that had come up with her, the one that had delayed Noel's arrival, involved this fiancé of hers. She'd always told me she had lousy taste in guys, "present company excluded, of course." I cleared my throat. "Zo, that's enough. Now, what do you think of Casey's dress?" I asked quietly, attempting to divert her attention.

Zoë threw me a look that said she wasn't falling for it and obviously knew what I was trying to do. Her eyes were a poisonous purple. Nonetheless, she stayed quiet and did as I requested, eyes flicking over Casey's appearance. "Well, I think Casey deserves something a bit more spectacular, to be quite honest. I mean, she obviously just threw that one on because she didn't want to come out into the Hall of Plate Glass Windows and Mirrors in just her underwear, even if her fiancé and the street would appreciate that sight much more than her in a white dress," Zoë quipped, that irrepressible smile popping up on her lips as if by magic.

Casey flushed and smiled at Zoë at the same time, which I'm sure was Zoë's intention. She could be a charmer when she wanted to be, and she'd used it before to get boys to do her bidding by just flashing a curve of crimson lips in their direction. Hell, she'd used the same charm on me to get me to do her science homework and go to clubs with her and have sex with her in strange public places. I sent her a warning look.

An irritated Lizzie cut in, "Casey, we should get going. We can come back and look at dresses later, but Vicky and her boyfriend are supposed to be at the house at three." The salesgirl's face fell, probably both at the prospect of the sale lost and its relation to the poor treatment she'd endured in the name of the commission. Casey turned, startled at the sudden mention of her unpleasant cousin. The smile slowly fell and dropped off of her face. Then Lizzie turned to Mom, frowning a little. "I mean, Mom, you don't think George will be able to look after Sebastian, put up with Derek and his friends, and deal with Cousin Vicky's irrational demands all by himself, do you?" she asked skeptically. By the way Nora paled, she clearly didn't think so (but, to be fair, I don't think any of us did, judging by the horrified look on Casey's face).

Casey pulled away from Noel, nodding. "You're right, of course, Liz. We need to be getting home. I'll be out in a minute," she said, squeezing Noel's shoulder fondly before heading back to the dressing room with a suddenness that surprised us all. Lizzie fixed me with a pointed look, and I looked down when she didn't look away, remembering that I was still wearing the tuxedo I'd been trying on and that I too needed to change. I offered them an apologetic smile and made for the dressing room, pulling off my jacket as I went. I felt eyes on me and didn't need to look to know that Zoë, Lizzie, and probably that frisky salesgirl were all looking at me.

I pulled the curtain closed behind me, throwing off the jacket. My fingers briskly unbuttoned the shirt, pulling it out of the pants and off of me. Then I unzipped the pants and took them off. I pulled on the jeans and t-shirt I'd been wearing before and then hung up the pants, shirt, and jacket before hopping into my shoes. For a moment, I just looked at myself in the mirror and thought about how surreal the past hour had been. I'd seen Derek and Casey together for the first time in years, been hit on by a salesgirl, flashed the entire shop, ran into my ex-girlfriend, who is my sister's fiancé's sister, and managed to piss off my best friend. Then I snapped out of it and went outside.

Lizzie approached me, grabbing my arm hard. "Good. I thought you were going to be in there forever," she muttered, obviously annoyed, starting to drag me to the door. Nora and Zoë were the first out, followed by Noel and Casey, who were holding hands and just in front of Lizzie and me. "Why didn't you ever tell me about her, _Eddie_?" Lizzie hissed, pulling me along with a completely unwarranted and unnecessary force. She didn't give me a chance to answer. "I mean, when did this even happen, Edwin? When did you _date_ her?" she continued in a sharp undertone, jerking me around and pushing me out of the door. I almost fell off the curb and whirled around to glower at her.

She glared at me in return and just about shoved me in the car, a clear sign that we were going to discuss this later. Nora was driving, and I saw her raised brows in the mirror. However, she had more important things to worry about than my love life, so she kept her mouth shut. Lizzie was silently seething, but I knew she fully intended to discuss it later when we were alone. The furtive, annoyed looks she was shooting me were screaming "explain! explain!" I just looked out the window and let Nora turn music on to fill the awkward silence.

When we got inside, Nora headed downstairs to see if Sebastian was down there. Dad had the day off and was supposed to be watching him. Noel, who had been driving his sister's ride, a flashy purple convertible that glittered in the light, had dropped Casey off at Smelly Nelly's to pick up her car. Since Derek was nowhere to be seen, I assumed he was asleep or hanging out in his room, since I'd seen his car parked out front. This meant that Lizzie and I were more or less alone for the moment. As soon as the door shut behind Nora, Liz lit into me, throwing me down on the couch with a well-placed hand to the shoulder, throwing me an expectant look.

I didn't especially want to tell her, but with the way Liz was towering over me, I understood that this was an interrogation, not a Q&A. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, and began to explain reluctantly, "We went out for a few months. Summer before Grade Eleven, before she went to university." I looked up at her, unsure of what else I was supposed to say about Zoë.

Liz cocked her head and gave me a disbelieving look. I just shrugged, out of a lack of anything better to say. I didn't need to justify my relationship with Zoë to her, not now, not when it was so far in the past and absolutely none of her business. I don't have to tell Lizzie everything, and obviously I don't tell her everything. I'd go even more insane if I did that. She shook her head at me equally disbelievingly and asked, "What did you even see in her?"

This time I gaped at her, unable to believe she'd asked such a ridiculous question. "Are you _seriously_ asking me that, Lizzie?" Lizzie nodded impatiently, motioning for me to go on and tell her. I rolled my eyes at her. "Fine. I'll list them off," I told her, holding up my hands. I ticked off a finger for every reason. "One: she's absolutely gorgeous. You can't have missed that. Two: she's got a wicked sense of humor. Always made me laugh. Three: she knows how to plan a good prank, which is a rare quality in a woman." Lizzie shoved me when I said that, obviously referencing the fact that she too could see a good prank to its fruition. True, but Liz was hardly as good as Zoë. I mean, Lizzie's pretty good and all, but Zoë is a master.

I continued, "Four: she's got a great body... Legs that go on for miles..." Lizzie threw me a dirty look, and I just shrugged and stopped talking before I was waxing poetic about Zoë's perfect proportions. "Five: she's smart as a whip. She can keep up with me, you know? Six: she's easy to talk to and a good listener. Eight: she's fearless and strong. Nine: she gets me. She understands the way I think." Lizzie's eyes were getting progressively harder as I went on talking, but I couldn't stop. "Ten: she's the most alive person I've ever met and probably the most interesting person I've ever met. She never fails to keep you on your toes. Eleven: she's passionate and honest. Twelve: she has the most extraordinary eyes." When I said this, Lizzie snorted. "Thirteen: things were easy with her. Comfortable. And, fourteen: she's good in bed-"

Lizzie's jaw dropped, unable to believe I'd just said that. I was a bit surprised in myself, to be honest. I hadn't meant to volunteer that particular information, as my sex life was one of those subjects we avoided as a rule, repulsed like the same ends of magnets, unless it came up. Unfortunately, it was coming up rather a lot lately, which I thought was odd, given my lack of a sex life lately. "You _slept_ with her?" Lizzie questioned, disgust and disbelief commingling in her tone. At that point, I knew there was no way I could win the argument, er, conversation we were having.

I frowned at her, cocking my head and just staring at her for a minute like she'd asked a completely stupid question. She sort of had asked a stupid question, so I was completely justified in giving her the look. "What'd you think I did with her, holed up in her bedroom all the time? Play Scrabble?" I snorted, just barely managing to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. There are many reasons why they never met, but the most significant one is that a lot of the time, Zoë and I were holed up in her bedroom, having sex, or in various other places. I only ever brought her home three times, though, when Lizzie was out or this one time when it was really late. It was dark, and Zoë didn't see much of my house or bedroom that time, but she did enjoy having to sneak out of my bedroom window.

"Eww, Edwin! I _so_ did not need to know that!" Liz made a face at my admission and looked mildly outraged or offended. The light flush on her cheeks indicated that she was also embarrassed. Since she's a virgin, Lizzie has kind of an insecurity about it, I guess. "What next, you gonna give me a point-by-point of your encounter with Tanya?" she quipped sarcastically, tone heavy with disgust. I grimaced at the unpleasant reminder and rolled my eyes at her (I'm not one to kiss and tell). She faltered for a moment, unsure of what to say next. I was beginning to plan my escape in her silence. At this precise moment, Noel and Zoë came in.

Noel looked a bit annoyed, if not angry, and he was pulling Zoë by the arm. Zoë was grinning mischievously and winked at me when she saw me. Noel saw this and rolled his eyes. Lizzie saw this and glowered at the both of us and just barely managed to resist shoving me. Noel said he and his sister had something to talk about before he took her home, and he was wondering if he could talk to her in private somewhere upstairs. Lizzie nodded, motioning for him to go up, just about biting her tongue to avoid making a comment about how his sister already knew the way. Casey burst in just as they began to head upstairs, hands full of bags and wedding magazines. She informed us briskly that she would be in her room if anyone cared (pointedly directing that phrase along with sharp looks towards Liz and Noel), working on wedding plans. She left us with the distinct impression that she was not to be disturbed and stalked up the stairs after her fiancé and his sister.

Lizzie let out a breath, held her head a little, and managed to avoid rolling her eyes. "Now where was I..." she muttered distractedly. I said nothing, not wanting to remind her of her annoyance. She turned away from me slightly, face thoughtful, pursing her lips faintly. She looked like she was contemplating whether or not to ask me something, wavering, which was, of course, very unlike her. Then, just as I was beginning to creep away, Lizzie whirled to face me, lips tight, and asked me a question I never saw coming. "Were you in love with her?"

The question hung in the air, motionless, like those dark, ominous clouds that mean rain. Time sort of slowed down for us, like we were in outer space or some other sort of vacuum. I blinked at her dumbly, cursing myself for not seeing this coming. I tried frantically to think of the answer to that question, then, upon not finding said answer, what Lizzie would want me to say. I didn't know that either. I hate not knowing things, but how am I supposed to answer Lizzie when I don't know what being in love feels like? It's not like I can list off symptoms and diagnose myself with a "love syndrome" or something like that. This feelings crap is all a little too socio-psychological for me; that's Lizzie's territory. All I can do is offer my observations and give a basic interpretation of what I think they mean in the proper context. I can't do measurements empirically or otherwise, so all I'm left with is worthless comparisons.

Fortunately, I was saved by the bell. The doorbell rang, and we both froze even more than before. I felt like I was part of the ice that composes Saturn's rings, cold, remote, and floating motionlessly in the orbit of something far greater than myself. Lizzie snapped to attention sooner than I did. She glanced at the door as the ringing went on impatiently, threw me a look that said we would finish this interrogation later, and hurried to answer it. I decided wisely to use that moment to slink away upstairs and maybe get some sleep.

I heard a piercing shouting-screaming-squealing noise almost immediately, when I was halfway to the door. "It's so great to see you, Victoria!" Lizzie exclaimed, pulling our cousin into a warm hug. Cousin Vicky looked more or less the same, only a little older; she was still pretty in that sharp, vaguely cruel way, thin, and that wicked resemblance to Casey was still there. Vicky smiled, and I moved quickly, almost dashing to the stairs so she wouldn't notice me. Lizzie, however, did; before Vicky could say anything in response, she turned around and hissed at me, "Get Mom and Dad. Now!"

Then she pulled away from Vicky, smile still firmly in place. I practically bolted for the basement, rousing Dad, Nora, and, unfortunately, Sebastian, who had all managed to fall asleep in a heap on the bed. Upon waking up, Nora paled and told me to escort Casey downstairs. A moment later, she also directed me to fetch Derek and Marti, so we could greet Vicky as a proper family. Not that the McDonald-Venturis have ever been a "proper" family. So I trudged upstairs, knocked on Casey's door and practically shoved her downstairs. Then I moved on to Derek's room and tricked him with the lure of food (i.e. nachos that I had no intention of making). Sergei, the poor guy, was apparently out doing some of Derek's Christmas shopping. Making sure to bypass Lizzie's room, outside of which I heard Noel and Zoë arguing rather animatedly (making sure not to eavesdrop since I was fairly certain I didn't want to hear what they were arguing about), I proceeded to head to Marti's.

At first I went with the truth, since she liked Cousin Vicky, but she said she was "busy," even though all she was doing was playing with her phone and looking at things. She'd been weird and mopey lately, for about the past week, really, kind of withdrawn and more boring than usual. I figured it was some girly hormonal thing, the kind of thing that Lizzie or Casey usually would've taken care of, except they'd both been understandably preoccupied with preparations for the holidays. So at first I tried to pull Marti out, but she's rather tenacious, so I had to pick her up and throw her struggling body over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, which was rather unfortunate because I'm not very strong like Derek, and Marti was heavy and wearing a miniskirt.

Marti was kicking and screaming, naturally, and the family was mostly not amused by the way I was carrying her down the stairs. Dad was the only one to even crack a smile (because he knew full well how uncooperative Marti could be). I do consider it a bit of a victory, though, because Sebastian said it looked fun and asked if he could go next. Lizzie, Casey, and Nora all commanded me to put my sister down, so I did. I might've dropped her if I thought I could get away with it, but Derek probably would've pummeled me. Marti glowered at me, straightening her recently-bobbed hair and clothes fussily.

Victoria, annoyed to not be the center of attention, loudly began to greet our parents, more or less shoving me to get to them. "Uncle George, Aunt Nora... So good to see you!" she exclaimed in this theatrical, completely disingenuous voice, drawing out all the vowels of the words to sound more magnanimous, I suppose. "How are you?" She embraced our father lightly and then moved on to hug our mother, pressing a light kiss to her cheek that I wasn't sure even touched the skin. She didn't wait for an answer, of course, just like she didn't wait for Dad or Mom to really reciprocate her embrace.

Then she bent down, eyes lighting on C. Her face broke out into a smile upon seeing our adorably tousle-headed, dimpled little brother, who was, for the moment, smiling. "Ooh, and this adorable little kid must be Sebastian, isn't that right?" she asked, leaning down so she was more on C's level. She waved at him and flashed her pearly whites. "Hi, 'Bastian... I'm your cousin Victoria," she said goofily. Then Vicky reached out for our little brother, either attempting to shake his hand or hug him, but Sebastian, bless him, wasn't having that.

He didn't know Vicky after all, and Mom and Dad had always told him not to talk to strangers and, actually, to run away from them. So Sebastian glanced at Casey for reassurance (having just noticed her), trying to figure out what to do about this strange person standing in front of him with her hands outstretched, wiggling her fingers at him expectantly. He drew back at little, and, perhaps reading the displeased look on Casey's face, reeled back and kicked Vicky hard in the shin.

Vicky reared back and let out a loud cry, clutching her leg in pain and jumping up and down. C ran back to our parents, slipping between Mom and Dad, hiding behind their legs. Vicky was so ridiculous-looking that I had to fight to keep a smile off my face, though I heard more than two horrified gasps. Casey, for her part, couldn't help but let out a few snickers, causing the still-injured Vicky to throw a glare over her shoulder in Casey's direction. Nora, for her part, was mortified. She held Sebastian's hand and gave Vicky an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry about that, Victoria! He normally likes strangers!" she exclaimed, pushing Sebastian back and coming over to help Vicky.

Our evil cousin shooed Nora off, though she demanded that Dad go fetch an ice-pack from the kitchen. Lizzie rolled her eyes; she loved her cousin, but it was plain that she thought Vicky was being a baby about this. After all, Lizzie had shins of steel from all her years of soccer and martial arts; she'd been kicked there more times than I could count. Then Nora went back over to C and tried to make him apologize (she was saying some crap about wanting to make him understand that what he did was wrong—when it was _really_ amusing), but C kept shaking his head and wouldn't move towards Vicky. Eventually, after a bit of a tussle, C broke free and ran away. Mom shoved Dad, who then proceeded to run after the little squirrel.

Vicky straightened, coming over to lean against the couch. I stifled a snort, and Lizzie threw me a dirty look, sympathy obviously having set in. "My boyfriend'll be along in a minute. He needs to get some things out of the car," Vicky said unnecessarily, still rubbing her leg and frowning faintly. She grinned at Casey then in a way that was positively evil, almost as if she was taunting Casey or if what she'd just said was somehow meant to be significant. Then she straightened once again, as if she wasn't injured, and strutted over to Casey. Vicky was wearing a reddish-pink dress that bared a lot of cleavage and black leather boots with heels like blades. The hem of the dress fell high on her upper thighs, and I'd noticed more than a few glances (including my own) directed in that particular area during the brief length of her visit so far. Derek's eyes, in particular, had lingered for a substantial (i.e. extensive) period of time. "Nice to see you, Cuz."

Casey smiled at her thinly, the expression on her face strained and more than a little tight. "It's good to see you too, Victoria," she replied neutrally. Casey was going for the mature and serene route, but only time would tell whether or not that would be successful. She was trying a little too hard, though, and it _showed_, causing Vicky's grin to widen. "It's been a while," Casey remarked blithely but still in a tone that suggested it hadn't been near long enough. She attempted to cross her arms over her chest but quickly decided against it, not wanting to assume a defensive position.

Vicky nodded, smug grin firmly in place, a hand cocked on her hip. She carried herself like a model, utterly sure of herself and looking down on you, as if her talking to you or even looking at you was a condescension. "Yes, it has," she replied equally coolly, glancing Casey over dismissively. Her lips curved a little more, amusement showing faintly on her features. "Isn't it funny how we go to the same school and almost never see each other?" she asked with a laugh, as if it actually were some funny little coincidence. The way her eyes flashed indicated that she knew better. "You would think that we'd run into each other more often, given how _much _we have in common," she continued equally deliberately, voice going up at the end a little, almost as if she was wondering. The smile on her face softened a bit.

Casey's features tightened even more, making her look unfortunately constipated. Her nose wrinkled; Vicky always made Casey revert to some younger, more childish person: pouty-lipped, powerless, and whiny. "Yeah, that is really strange," she said blandly, crossing her arms over her chest and falsely stressing the strangeness of it. "I wonder why that is," she added a moment later, in a voice that was so entirely unconvincing that I'm sure even Sebastian could've understood that sarcasm. Vicky frowned; Casey putting on appearances like this, seeming to agree while simultaneously challenging her, gave her no pleasure and no good opening for a dig.

She didn't falter for long, though. She reached out and hugged Casey awkwardly, a bit stiffly, and then pulled back. Her eyes lit on the shiny thing glittering on Casey's finger, thus proving that she is probably a gold-digger in the making. I know all of this sounds mean, since she's family, but technically she really isn't _my_ family... and even if she was, we all have family we're a little ashamed of or hate just a little bit or feel uncomfortable around... sometimes we even have family that's racist or addicted or insane or has a criminal background, or that just makes questionable life decisions. Unfortunately, every family has to deal with these individuals... because they're family, and when it comes down to it, they don't have a choice.

"Nice rock, Cuz," she pronounced, grabbing Casey's hand and holding it up in the light. "Who got it for you?" she asked, looking around as if she expected Casey's fiancé to somehow materialize. Her eyes lingered on Derek a bit longer than they should have, a questioning look on her face, but she pulled her gaze away when Casey snatched her hand back. "Where's the unlucky groom?" she persisted, eyes once again flicking over to Derek. Casey was so irritated she failed to notice these glances or their significance. "He bail on you already?" Vicky taunted.

Casey looked like she wanted to slap Vicky across the face, and she might have, had Lizzie not been at her side, restraining her in a gesture she disguised as a sideways half-embrace. Casey just about bared her teeth at her and managed to grit out with only a hint of civility, "He's upstairs talking to his sister. You'll probably meet him later." It was clear, though, from her tone of voice, that she never wanted Vicky to meet Noel, and, in Casey's defense, it was warranted, given that Vicky has a tendency of pursuing men Casey is interested in romantically. Truly, I get that the resemblance is immense, but Vicky is really just a nasty person, so I don't get why they go for her. I suppose maybe her nastiness and the fact that she's everything Casey's not might be the appeal there. If they're polar opposites, then it follows that she must be laid-back, calm, vicious, hot, mean, graceful, and more than a little slutty, whereas Casey is neurotic, dramatic, a klutz, cool, nice, bossy, and a bit prudish.

Sensing that Casey wasn't going to brook any more of her insults with passivity, or perhaps realizing that, if she pressed any further, someone else might intervene (and hopefully smack her), Vicky moved on to a new target. She turned around abruptly, raking her eyes over my brother unashamedly, as if she was looking through his clothes and liked what she saw. "Well, if it isn't the Big Bad Brrrother..." she drawled, rolling the r and sauntering towards Derek with a wolfish look in her eyes. "Looking good, as usual, Step-Cuz," she pronounced flirtatiously.

He was leaning coolly against the stairs, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek flinched a little, barely noticeably, but I saw it. Brother's a bit of a trigger word. He recovered his cool quickly, giving her a brief nod of acknowledgment. "And I see you haven't changed a bit, Victoria," Derek said coolly, rather disinterestedly. To Vicky, though, he was casually flirtatious. I thought he was probably annoyed about what she'd said to Casey, since he got all touchy whenever anyone else insulted Casey, which was rather interesting, given Derek's antipathy and um... hatred... for Casey's engagement. Apparently he hadn't missed the flicker of hurt on Casey's face either.

She stared at Derek for a moment before realizing he wasn't going to give her anything more, that he preferred to remain in stony silence than continue half-hearted flirting with an unavailable woman. Then she came over to Lizzie, throwing an arm around her. Lizzie pulled away from Casey, moving towards her cousin, and I recognized the conflicted look on her face as she gazed between them. Vicky stroked Lizzie's hair, smiling at her, probably knowing she was pissing Casey off immensely with her show of familiarity. "Oh, Lizzie, you've gotten so pretty! When on Earth did my little tomboy become a woman?" she exclaimed, pulling Lizzie into another hug. I saw the vaguely sour look that flitted across Lizzie's face at hearing the word "tomboy."

Nonetheless, Lizzie understood her slightly insane cousin meant that as a compliment and hugged her back. Vicky's statement was very much correct, and Lizzie happened to look particularly beautiful today. She was wearing a form-fitting dark purple knit dress with black tights. "You look nice too," Lizzie murmured blandly, having previously exchanged pleasantries with her cousin. I could tell she was trying to be unoffensive and manage not to piss Casey off while expressing genuine warmth for her cousin. Then Vicky pulled away, smiling at her, and turned in a very unexpected direction: my direction, as a matter of fact.

I kind of cringed as she came towards me and surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. At any rate, I sure screwed my eyes shut because when I opened them, Vicky was giving me what she supposed was an enticing look. I rather thought of it as a hungry look, like she was some sort of wild beast who intended to devour me. "My, my, Edwin, you _have_ grown up, haven't you?" she purred vampishly, caressing my cheek. I practically squirmed away from her and noticed that Lizzie was gaping at us, looking alternatively confused, annoyed, and then amused when she saw the expression on my face.

I do not do my brother's leftovers.

I pulled away from Vicky, barely managing to avoid throwing her hand back at her. My facial expression was grim and nondescript. "And yet _you_ haven't, Cousin," I replied sarcastically, unenthusiastically, crossing my arms over my chest and drawing away from her. I knew Vicky hadn't grown out of her vicious little games and stupid manipulations. Lizzie's eyes widened at this more or less blatant insult, especially as I had no real reason to be annoyed with Vicky, outside of the fact that I didn't like what she'd done to my sister and thought she was a raging bitch. And I'm not just saying that because she played with my feelings when I was younger. Casey snorted and gave me a grateful smile that I, of course, returned.

For her part, Vicky paled a little, smile falling (but not quite off her face), but then she pulled her mask back up with a brief, tight expression, and turned abruptly to my sister, who was hulking next to me fairly stand-offishly. I was surprised she let a burn like that pass without comment. She eyed Marti's ridiculous "trying-too-hard" outfit (skin-tight purple sparkly leggings, a torn, too short jean miniskirt, and some kind of trashy torn up black top) and then smiled to herself. "Who are you and what have you done with Little Marti?" she exclaimed as if shocked. "You look old enough to go clubbing with me in Toronto!" she continued, marveling at Marti's outfit, having her turn around and all that.

Marti was actually thrilled about that, actually happy and like her normally fairly happy-go-lucky self for the first time in weeks. She was twirling like some kind of mobile and giggling, and, of course, Marti immediately began pleading with Victoria to take her clubbing. The vague smile on Vicky's face didn't indicate whether or not she was actually going to take Marti clubbing (I thought not, given her self-centeredness and obvious desire to not hang out with teenagers), but it certainly left the possibility open. Derek, who'd been silent during the entire visit except for when she'd directly addressed him, made a noise of dissatisfaction. He was very _not-_amused by Vicky's bright little comment, as indicated by the crossed arms and the glower he was sending in her direction. He even looked as if he were about to say something; however, at that exact moment, we all heard the door begin to open.

Apparently Lizzie had uncharacteristically left it open (she's actually hyper-vigilant about this sort of thing from all of her self-defense classes and everything), probably because her cousin had mentioned that her boyfriend would only be a few minutes or else she'd simply forgotten. Either way, we all turned to face the door. Vicky clapped her hands, excited. Her smile widened to the point where it looked rather ridiculous on her face (I could never recall having seen her wear a smile that large in our entire acquaintance), and her face was flush with glee. I found it strange that she liked her boyfriend that much, frankly. "Oh, here's my boyfriend now!" she chirped. The door opened slowly, and a dark-haired man began to deposit bags in the house.

We couldn't see his face at first since there were a lot of bags and he was sort of looking away and keeping his head down. That should've been a sign. Vicky smirked then, her cheesy grin taking on a particular smugness and coyness as she placed a finger on her lips, feigning contemplation. "I think you might've already met," she continued speculatively, obviously biting on the inside of her cheek to suppress some emotional response. "...Maybe you've seen him somewhere around Toronto or... at university..."

It was obvious she was directing this at Casey, who merely rolled her eyes, utterly nonplussed. "That's great..." she muttered utterly unenthusiastically. Casey was a bit impatient too, clearly wanting to get back to the many things she had to do in preparation for the holidays and the wedding. "What's his n-?" she began a moment later, attempting to feign interest in her cousin's love life, more out of the sake of politeness than anything else. I suppose she didn't see how Vicky's boyfriend could be at all dangerous or relevant to her own life. Silly girl, she should've known that Vicky never brings something up unless she has an ulterior motive.

Casey realized this soon enough, unfortunately, when she finally looked at Vicky's boyfriend. Just at that moment, he set the last of the bags down and straightened, finally looking at all of us for the first time. His and Casey's eyes met, predictably, and Casey stopped talking mid-sentence. Her entire body stiffened and just froze in a way completely unlike how she'd tensed up when she saw Derek. The shock that would soon translate to horror was plainly written on her face, though her features moved more than one expected, like she was trying to speak but found herself incapable of uttering a single word. Honestly, I'm fairly certain that all the thoughts flew out of Casey's mind because, well, all of us were stunned at who we saw looking back at us from the doorway.

For his part, Truman French looked equally surprised to see her. There was a different look to him, though, because he looked much more comfortable with the situation than Casey did. There was a kind of hopefulness and determination in the way he held himself up, tall and strong. His face quickly turned casual, even friendly, which surprised me since Truman knew full-well how unwelcome and unwanted and disliked he was in our home. But he'd always been a bit of a cocky son of a bitch, so I shouldn't have been that surprised.

It occurred to me very quickly that Truman _had_ to have known that Casey would be here, or, at the very least, that there was a high chance that she would be. After all, he knows that Vicky's her cousin, and he knows the house and all of us. He had to know he wouldn't receive a warm welcome. There are only two reasons he would come stay with his ex-girlfriend's family: 1. he's actually serious about Vicky, and this is somehow important to her, and 2. he's still in love with Casey and came here because he wanted to see her and try to get her back. Given what I know about Vicky, I'm not dumb enough to think it's the first reason.

Truman smiled awkwardly at all of us and gave Casey a tiny wave. "Hi, Casey," he said quietly, still smiling faintly.

Vicky turned back to Casey, evil grin now making perfect sense. She feigned surprise though, letting her mouth fall open and then covering it with her hand. "Wait, didn't you two used to go out?" she exclaimed loudly, as if she didn't know. She pretended to look shamed by this, as if she actually felt bad about it. "Oops! I guess this must be a bit awkward for you, Cuz." Those of us who weren't completely furious at Vicky rolled our eyes at her obvious and unnecessary comment. I mean, really, awkward was an understatement, and given all of the awkward situations I have gotten myself into (from my sister walking in on me jerking off to my little sister confronting me about sleeping with my other sister to flashing an entire store today and running into my ex-girlfriend), I like to think I know a thing or two about _awkward_.

As for Casey, for a moment she was dead silent. She did not return Truman's greeting, not that she would, given her complete hatred for him. Then she shook her head, as if she couldn't believe it. And then Casey lunged at her cousin, and Lizzie and, surprisingly, Derek, had to jump to restrain her and pull her back. "I cannot _believe_ you!" she screamed, struggling against her restraints. She was so enraged that she didn't even notice Derek was one of the people holding her back, let alone the fact that he was pressed up against her to ground the both of them. I heard the shaking in Casey's voice underneath the righteous indignation, the first signs that she was probably going to cry about this.

"You have some **nerve** bringing _him_ here, Vicky!" Casey spat, gesturing angrily at Truman. After all, Vicky _had_ known they'd been engaged at one point. For God's sake, she was supposed to have been one of Casey's bridesmaids if they'd gone through with the whole thing. She had to know their whole history. Her eyes, which had been engaged in glaring daggers at Vicky, turned sharply to meet Truman's with a bitter viciousness that reminded me of a hyena or similarly barbarous animal. Her stare was hard, sharp, and cutting like diamonds. Then she ripped herself away from Lizzie and Derek and stormed off upstairs, obviously upset, just in time to brush past and more or less shove Noel, who'd stopped on the landing at some point to take in this strange scene.

She might've given him a cold look, but I wasn't sure she'd noticed her fiancé standing there. Nonetheless, we all heard the door to her room slam a moment or so later. Noel, the poor guy, had apparently arrived late enough that he didn't understand what had just happened. After all, he's never met Vicky, and, while he knows about Truman, I'm not sure they've ever actually met. He stared after Casey and then turned to us, looking confused. "What was _that_ about?" he asked, clearly bewildered. If he'd asked who Truman was, someone would've had to awkwardly answer his question. Fortunately, however, he'd asked about Casey having a fit of histrionics, which was commonplace enough to allow us all to shrug and avoid telling him the unfortunate, delicate truth. Derek took this opportunity to slink upstairs, unnoticed, throwing Truman a dirty look over his shoulder.

At that point, Nora, who looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown, turned to Marti. "Marti, honey, go upstairs," she said firmly. Marti didn't need any more urging; she bolted up the stairs with a gleeful cackle. At the top, however, she turned to Noel and announced, a wee bit spitefully, with a pat on the shoulder, "He's Casey's ex-fiancé. You know, the one before you." Then she turned on her heel and marched back to her room to talk to her friends on the phone for hours, leaving a flummoxed Noel in her wake. Did he even know that Casey had been engaged before?

Nora frowned at her back and grimaced a little. Her eyes caught mine and Lizzie's, and she silently used them to direct us out of the room. Lizzie huffed a little but grabbed me by the wrist; it was clear from the look in her eyes that she would've liked to get a piece of Truman. We started up the stairs quickly, bypassing a silent Noel. I half expected to run into Zoë in the hallway, but it was deserted when Lizzie and I reached the second floor. The doors to everyone's rooms were closed, so Lizzie and I continued up the narrow stairs to my room. Her grip was firm and a little too tight on my wrist, like she was afraid of me getting away or something.

When we finally reached my room, Lizzie practically threw me in it and slammed the door behind us. I braced myself for what I knew was going to come: the inevitable resumption of our previous conversation about Zoë. She seemed to have pushed aside all the questions and pesky feelings that the Casey drama had managed to dredge back up as she steeled her shoulders and stared me down. "How long was it, Ed? Three-four _months_?" she asked, voice beginning to raise in her building anger. I said nothing in response to her question, thinking that it was more like five, maybe a little more than that, even. Even more annoyed by my lack of a response, Lizzie shoved me, shouting, "God, what is it with you and summer hook-ups?"

I threw Lizzie a dirty look. Really, Liz, we're going to go _there_? I don't know why she's trying to make me sound like I'm the bad guy or the slut here. She's the serial dater here, not me, and it rankled a little because Zoë had actually been a serious girlfriend. Plus she was the whole instigator that time! I don't know why she didn't suspect anything, really. She didn't think it was weird that she didn't see me at all that summer? Or did she just not notice? "I can't be-_lieve_ you didn't tell me!" she screeched, sounding partially outraged and partially disbelieving, rather like I was some girlfriend who hadn't told her I'd made out with my hottie next-door-neighbor or something.

I frowned at her, stepping back so she couldn't shove me again, and crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't tell you _everything_..." I muttered defensively. Lizzie scowled at me, eyes saying plainly that I did. That wasn't really true; she only thought I did. Obviously there are a lot of things I haven't been telling her lately, not the least of which are those sex dreams I've been having about her. A moment later, I added a bit more firmly, "And last I checked, I don't **have** to tell you everything about me. It's my life, Liz." She raised a brow, surprised at how firm I sounded, but rolling her eyes at me nonetheless.

"Yeah, and our lives aren't connected or anything..." she mumbled sarcastically, fixing me with that look, the one that says "I've known you entirely to long to let you screw around with me, bro." Sometimes I really hated the fact that she knew me so well. It meant she never let me get away with anything. And who ever said our lives being that interconnected was a good thing? Sometimes I'm not sure if our symbiotic relationship is mutualism or parasitism (obligate or facilitative). I didn't say anything in response to that, just stared back at her defiantly. "You didn't tell me on _purpose_, Edwin!" she accused a moment later. Of course I didn't. I mean, why would I when I could be making out with Zoë instead? Telling Lizzie would've made things infinitely more complicated and more serious than I wanted it to be, and why ruin a good thing?

I hadn't wanted to deal with all of that, to make it more than it was. Plus, I kind of liked having some part of my life that was just my business. It was nice to have my own secrets, to keep certain things to myself, to separate my life from hers just that little bit. I couldn't argue with that, so I didn't. "Yeah, 'cause I knew you'd react like this!" I rejoined a little too loudly. Lizzie was still playing the affronted best friend card, and I wasn't having it. I saw the ire in her eyes, the sharp, tightness in her face that meant she was angry. "I knew you'd give me a hard time about it, and that you'd see the worst in Zoë, and ugh..." Liz looked almost hurt by that comment, but she honestly didn't think I'd missed the dismissive, judgmental undertone in her voice when she asked me about Zoë, did she? I wasn't stupid; I knew what that was insinuating.

Like I said, some aspects of Zoë's reputation, and, by that, I mean many of them, are not especially positive. And most of those things were more rumor than truth, so you can only imagine the things people said about her. Zoë wasn't a "nice girl"; she wasn't docile, ready to roll over and let herself be walked on. Couple that with her fierce independence, sharp tongue, beauty, and disregard of rules and authority figures, and you get a person whom many people admire from a distance but secretly hate. I sighed, running a hand through my hair before continuing, a bit softer, "It's just always been weird when I have a girlfriend. You always try too hard to like her, or she hates you or something like that, and then I wind up awkwardly in the middle, having to choose or something!" And people wonder why I don't have girlfriends and haven't dated in over a year. I just don't want to deal with the drama, to be trapped between two women (and I _always_ end up choosing Lizzie, always, because I never care about the other girls enough and don't want to lose my best friend because of some ultimately transient girlfriend).

My voice had risen as I was talking. I'd gotten off the point a little, and Lizzie was about to inject her two cents, given the vaguely confused and irascible look on her face. I exhaled again, trying to remain calm. "The point is that Zoë wasn't as bad as you think... because you didn't even _know_ her, okay? ...And I was _happy_ with her because she understood me and liked me, and it was just that simple! And I **like** simple, okay?" I wound up getting a little carried away and more or less shouting. A lot of the reasons why I'd dated Zoë were flooding to the forefront of my mind, and a lot of the things (_simplicity_ and lack of complication chief among them) I'd just mentioned still sounded good even after a year and a half. For, as easy as my relationship with Lizzie may seem, it certainly does cause me a lot of undue stress and require a lot of work to maintain, and I can't say it's easy being her best friend, can I? I say this despite, of course, my great love for her. You can love someone to pieces and still dislike many things about your relationship with them.

Perhaps she'd read my mind, because Lizzie flinched, bizarrely, as if she'd been hit by those words. The hurt look on her face had deepened a bit further, and she opened her mouth as if to say something to counter what I'd said, but closed it, apparently thinking the better of such a comment. Then she sighed, and all the fight seemed to go out of her. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly, sounding vaguely defeated. She was giving me those Bambi eyes again, the eyes that simultaneously manage to convey "how-_could_-you?" and "why?" and sympathy, the ones she gives you when you've inadvertently hurt an animal or done something heinous to the planet, like litter or use too much hairspray.

I just shrugged; I thought I'd just answered that question. A part of me sensed there was more to this conversation, some undertone that I was missing, but I didn't know what it was. "I liked the way things were, Lizzie. I didn't want to go and tell you and make it more than it was." Telling Lizzie and introducing Zoë to my family would've meant it was something serious... and that wasn't really what either of us wanted. "I liked her, and I didn't want to..." I continued, trailing off when I realized that what I was about to say next would undoubtedly piss Lizzie off, since I was on the verge of, in a roundabout way, saying that she sabotaged and ruined all my relationships. The mere suggestion in my own head made me feel insufferably like Casey, so I kept my mouth shut.

Liz gave me an expectant look, arms still crossed over her chest. She's never been one to back down easy. She wanted me to go on, which I had, of course, no intention of doing. I made the mistake of meeting her gaze, and we were suddenly locked in a silent showdown, staring at each other so intensely my eyes burned. Liz rolled her eyes at me, and when I still said nothing, she kind of lost it a little bit. To be fair, it had been a long, emotional, strange day for all of us, so I don't especially blame her. Lizzie hates secrets (ironically enough). She let out a sound very near to a growl and flew at me, throwing me down on the bed. "You are _so_ infuriating sometimes, Edwin Venturi!" Liz said through clenched teeth, a little bit breathless.

I couldn't help but smirk up at her, naturally. At my smirk, she frowned. "Damn it, why do you have to be so hot when you do that?" she muttered half under her breath. Naturally, my smirk widened, and Liz slapped my cheek to get rid of it. She'd followed me onto the bed and had, predictably, wound up more or less straddling me. It reminded me of times in our childhood when we used to wrestle. Lizzie always won. I didn't want to hit a girl... and Lizzie was and still is a lot stronger than my scrawny teenage self. As wrestling attempts go, she hadn't pinned me very well, despite the fact that she'd thrown all of her weight down on me. Fortunately, I was too surprised and trying too hard to fend her off (she was raining half-hearted punches and slaps down on me) to be turned on.

I rolled to the side so I could get Lizzie off of me and rolled over something kind of lumpy. Liz fell off the bed with a bit of a shout and started scrambling to get back on the bed. She'd just launched herself into the air towards me when the lump I was on top of groaned and moved, pulling back the covers just as Liz tackled me, effectively knocking all the wind out of me. Though I suppose it could also be said that the person in my bed revealing herself had much the same effect. "My ears are burning," she quipped, trying for light or sarcastic but failing because of the huge yawn that came out, unbidden, afterwards. Liz and I froze in our battle for dominance to stare at Zoë, who sort of shoved us off of her and started to sit up.

I thought things were awkward before, but now my ex-girlfriend was in my bed and had apparently woken up to the sight of me and my stepsister wrestling. This is so not good. What had she heard us say, if anything? I decided it would be best if I spoke first, lest Lizzie say something mean and get the wrong idea or Zoë make the ridiculously inappropriate comment I'm sure she was dying to say. "What are you doing in my bed, Zo?" I asked quickly, trying to keep my voice perfectly level and deceptively calm. This was especially difficult as Lizzie was lying on top of me, and I was still sort of sandwiched between the two of them.

Zoë broke out into a smile and eyed me and Lizzie pointedly. "I was sleeping... but I think the better question is what were _you two_ doing on your bed?" she retorted easily, adopting a tone of mild indignation which masked amusement, I think. She threw Lizzie a bit of a look and then her eyes returned to mine, challenging me. "Is it what we used to do on your bed, Ed?" she asked patiently, eyes gleaming wickedly. My whole body cringed and attempted to recede in on itself. Liz' face was flushed with a mixture of what looked like anger and embarrassment. Her eyes flashed murder.

Zoë smiled more genuinely, making herself comfortable in my bed, caressing the mattress fondly. "Good times," she murmured suggestively, eying me with a flicker of hunger. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. She was hardly a regular visitor to my bedroom. I don't usually bring girls back with me to my bedroom anyway, since I come from a slightly deranged family of seven, two of whom are children, one of whom is Lizzie (and the further away she is from my sex life the better!), and it's very near impossible that I could pull it off without anyone knowing (and, thus, getting in trouble). She'd only ever been in here three times, and one of those times barely even counts because we actually had sex on the couch downstairs.

I got sucked back into the memories a little, which is exactly what that minx wanted. She was right; they were _good_ ones. I had to remind myself that none of that, none of what she was promising with her eyes, could ever happen again, as she was very much engaged, according to that diamond ring on her fourth finger. Not to mention that Casey would certainly kill me if I did anything to one of her bridesmaids. Given that I'm related to two of them and had a thing with Zoë, the odds of her finding a reason to maim me are fairly high... so I don't need to give her one. Zoë stretched just then, and I tried very hard not to look. This was not a place in which I wanted to remember or fantasize about amorous encounters.

I'd just remembered that, before Zoë, the last girl I brought up here for anything remotely sexual was Lizzie. All those times we made out and... And after Zoë, Lizzie's still the last girl who came up here for anything sexual. Why do I do these things to myself? Zoë muttered something about how it still smelled like me. Sensing my attention was being drawn elsewhere and irked at my ex's last comment, Liz smacked me hard across the chest. "What, did you stash her up here for later?" she snapped before smacking me again. She didn't give me a chance to respond, probably because Zoë had started laughing. Liz shoved me again but got off of me, making a face at me. She looked a little green actually, so intense was her disgust. "I'll leave the two of you alone to get... reacquainted. Try not to have too good of a time," she spat before storming out, slamming my door behind her.

I heard her feet thunder down the squeaky steps to the second floor and held my head in my hands reflexively. How did that spiral out of control so quickly? She didn't even let me get a word out! I was grimacing and beginning to rub my temples when I felt Zoë at my side. I shut my eyes, well aware I was about to get much of the same line from her. Sure, I know she seemed all cool with it, but Zoë isn't the type to let anything go either. "You so sure about her not being your girlfriend, Eddie-O? Does _she_ know she isn't? 'Cause, generally, when it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck... it's a girlfriend," she questioned bluntly, giving me a look. She cocked her head and just looked at me for a bit, and her amethyst eyes narrowed. "Unless you want to keep it a secret," she suggested suspiciously.

I must've stiffened or something, out of reflex, because Zoë's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open just enough to reveal a flash of tongue. She just gaped at me for a moment before finding the words. Either way, she didn't give me time to either confirm or deny her statement. "Oh. My. _God_," she squealed, sounding like an animal in its death throes, "You had a thing with her, didn't you?" My eyes widened a bit at her statement, awed at her ability to read me so well even after all these years. And if Zoë could pick up on something like that when she wasn't even around or part of my life then, then what about the people who actually had been there? I was fourteen then; I had no excuse to be so obvious now that I knew better.

"_What_? No!" I exclaimed, feigning confusion, trying to sound as affronted as I was every time someone said something like that. It's really starting to wear at me, though, and I just get _so_ tired of fighting the accusations when I know that no one is going to believe me. I said it a bit too quickly, though, and Zoë noticed. Curse her keen observational skills. "There's absolutely nothing going on between me and Lizzie," I told her a moment later, as firmly as I could muster. Apparently, I wasn't firm enough; that was probably due to my exhaustion. And the fact that even I can acknowledge that that statement is a bit of a lie.

I'd forgotten the second guiding principal of Derek's How to Lie 101: Believe in your own lie. If you believe it, others will too. My intent was all right, okay? It wasn't much of a lie.

Zoë clapped her hands excitedly, letting out a little giggle. It was oddly childish of her, but I wasn't really looking at her because I was attempting to smother myself with my hands. "OhmiGod. You _totally_ did!" Zoë crowed half-disbelievingly, completely disregarding my denials. She was practically rocking back and forth in my bed, begging for details and asking me all kinds of questions I had no idea how to answer. This time, I remembered Derek's teaching on how to lie and came up with the solution: the good old misdirect.

If you confess to a lesser evil or crime or wrong, people are less likely to suspect you of what you actually did. Furthermore, they'll be more likely to believe you and consider you an honest person. Derek's also fond of the bold move route, where one does something bold and perhaps a little insane, to escape notice and questioning. So I sighed, pretending like I was conceding, allowing her to lean in closer. "She was my first kiss, okay? But that was ages ago, and that's all it was," I told her a bit snappily, turning away from her moodily. She knew about as much now as Dan did (but, really, being my ex-girlfriend, what did she _expect_ me to tell her?). Maybe that Drama class wasn't for naught after all.

Or maybe it was, given that Zoë snorted. "So, what, it was just a little bit of incestuous experimentation?" she asked a bit too drolly, a bit too casually. I flinched. It couldn't have stung more if she'd actually slapped me. I'd forgotten I'd introduced Lizzie to her as my sister, not my stepsister. I could practically hear the implication in her voice, and it made me fairly nauseous. I thought about correcting her, felt some sick desire to do so, but Zoë spoke before I could. "You sure your sister knows that? You sure _you_ know that, Ed? 'Cause you don't sound half as sure as you like to think you do," she added a moment later, moving a bit closer to peer at me, hand on my shoulder. I scowled and shrugged her hand away. Sometimes I hate the way she acts like she knows everything, like she's so goddamned omniscient.

Lest she think I was actually having an affair with my sister, I turned my eyes to focus on hers intently, refusing to back down. "Yeah. I'm sure," I bit back deservedly snottily. "It was just a kiss, and it happened a long time ago. We were just kids. That's all it was," I stated sternly, knowing I was lying through my teeth but so angry that I was clenching my jaw and _this_ close to punching someone. Zoë tried to give me some kind of skeptical look, but I wasn't having it. "We're not dating." She raised a brow at me, since she hadn't out-and-out asked me that question.

I glowered at her, and she held her hands up in a surrendering position. "Hey, I'm not judging. Apparently ten to fifteen percent of the population has done it," she added a bit defensively, trying to reassure me with the gentle tone of her voice. I cocked a brow at her statistics, which could hardly be accurate, and the fact that she knew that statistic in the first place. At the unbidden question in my gaze, Zoë just smirked and joked, "Kinda had a thing for Noel back in eighth grade." I did not appreciate being mocked, though I felt bad for believing her for a second (Zoë had certainly had some questionable hook-ups, including myself, a felon, the ever tumultuous Jack Fitzgerald, several college guys, foreign men, a teacher, and potentially a married guy). I rolled my eyes at her, wanting nothing more than to get out of my room, where I was reminded of those awful thoughts and dreams.

I started to get up and head for the door, not knowing whether or not I was seeking solitude or the comfort of my family's many shouting voices to prevent me from thinking too much, but Zoë grabbed my arm and pulled me back to face her. "Look, I don't know _exactly_ what it is you're trying to hide from me, but I know you better than that, Kid," she told me matter-of-factly, clearly no longer in the mood for jokes. I made a face, wondering when that part of my life became her business. I didn't have to tell her anything, and at the moment she was only serving to remind me of the wretched fight I'd had with Lizzie. They were more alike than I'd ever realized or seen. Zoë leaned in uncomfortably close, locking eyes with me. "Come on, Ed. There's gotta be a reason why you didn't even _mention_ her to me. I mean, a sister your age who went to our school, and you never said one word?" she continued skeptically. She peered at me for a long moment, frowning faintly. "It makes me wonder if I ever really knew you."

I couldn't help myself and let out a groan, unable to believe she was using that line on me. I pulled my arm away from her grip. "Zo, _don't_, okay? Lizzie's already pissed at me for this same thing... And it wasn't some big conspiracy or anything, for Einstein's sake! I didn't tell you because I didn't think it was a big deal. I didn't want to complicate things. I have three sisters, and that's a common enough fact around Thompson... you could've looked it up if you were so inclined... And it's not like you ever really talked about Noel," I argued a bit irritably.

She frowned, opening her mouth to say something but realizing I kind of had her there. She made a faintly displeased face at me but didn't concede. "Still, she's all bent out of shape about it. _You're_ all bent out of shape about it. Why?" she asked bluntly, leaning on her elbow. I realized at that moment just how close she was. She was turned half on her side so she was facing me; her face was maybe fifteen centimeters away from mine. I tried not to look at her lips, to focus on the dark blue-violet eyes that were zeroing in on me.

I sighed, wondering if Zoë would misunderstand like everyone else. It was weird, talking about Lizzie with her; weirder even than Lizzie's little interrogation, actually. It was uncomfortable because Zoë didn't understand the background of the situation at all, and she knew nothing about Lizzie, really. I shrugged, trying to stifle the part of me that needed to rush after Lizzie and try and explain this. "She's my best friend," I said simply, trying very hard not to think about how angry she was with me.

Zoë's brow furrowed and a little frown formed on her lips. She chewed on a finger, giving me a questioning look. "Wait, your sister _and_ your best friend? And you didn't tell either of us?" Her tone was filled with disbelief and mild suspicion. I sensed rather than heard the undertones of annoyance in her voice. Zoë has this weird thing about honesty and full disclosure, and she gets upset when her honesty is not reciprocated (though, mind you, this woman is one of the best liars I have ever met. Half the stuff she did in high school she never got caught for. When they accused her, she'd always say something like, "Okay. You think I did it? So prove it." She was too smart to get caught most of the time).

I made a face at her. "I don't get why _you're_ annoyed. We were over a long time ago." I said it a bit tighter than I meant to, and it came out sounding a little mean. I felt I should be with Lizzie, explaining things to her, and hanging around my ex was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable, especially as we were both laying on my bed, i.e. a bed that we'd previously had sex in... so my mind was torn between these equally uncomfortable thoughts. She shot me a bit of a dark look, but she shrugged. Zoë liked guys who stood up to her. That's kind of why she first kissed me. I told her she was wrong about something and argued my point so well she couldn't really argue, and then Zoë just grabbed my face and kissed me to make me shut up.

She offered me a lazy smile. "You're the "One Who Got Away," Ed," she pronounced with a straight face, but only just barely. "And I think the fact that you hid an entire part of your life, a really important part, from me... I think that means something. Like that there's something going on between the two of you, and it's more than you'd like to admit." She crossed her arms over her chest, staring me down in that mildly irritated way she did when she felt like I wasn't telling her things. She used to do that when I was upset about something involving my family, like my dad or Derek. "Did you not think I was _important_ enough to meet your best friend and your family? Is that it? Were you ashamed?" she asked piercingly.

I sighed heavily, pinching my brow. I so do not need this right now. "It wasn't that, Zo. It wasn't that at all." I shook my head sharply and started to get back up again. I had just gotten so sick of it all. "I get enough of this from everyone else. I'm not going to have this conversation with you too. It was nice seeing you, Zo," I spat, putting my feet on the floor and intending to head for the door.

Of course, my ex had other plans. She changed the subject abruptly once again, as was her wont. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't still think about you sometimes," she called out to me in a low voice, half sultry and half a whisper. I turned around suddenly, trying to school my features into a neutral expression. What I was really thinking was that she'd picked a hell of a time to tell me that. She sat up slowly, a faint smile on her lips, and I silently recognized her beauty with a pang. I didn't know what to say to that (what did she even _want_ me to say to that?), but I knew it was better to say nothing at all, so I didn't say a word.

She pouted faintly, pawing my quilt with two fingers. "You're the best man I've ever dated, you know," she added a moment later, glancing down at the bed. If I hadn't known her better, I almost would've called that tone hesitant or nervous. She was eerily quiet, though, and I was beginning to feel like something was off with her. She smiled wryly. "You were good for me," she drawled, lip curving up at the corner in a half-smile. She'd been good for me too, I remembered with a trace of warmth.

"Zo, we both know you don't want the _best_ man. You like a challenge a little too much for that," I chided gently with a roll of the eyes. I almost added that I was a bit of a welcome distraction for her, just something else she was testing out. In reality, she didn't want a guy like me. I'm the kind of guy she knows she should want, but Zoë doesn't want what's good for her. I'm too simple, too easy, too normal (and, believe me, I literally never thought I would be saying that about myself, but I am).

She snorted like she knew more than me, rolling her eyes. And then, like a flash of lightning, she wrapped her hand around the base of my neck and pulled my head down, crashing her lips up into mine violently. It was the kind of force that made my lips bruise. It felt good, tasted sweet and familiar, was hard at first and then soft. It would've been easy to just give in to the feeling, to let her press down on my shoulders and pull me down on top of her, but I remembered soon enough that she was engaged and jerked back, nearly vaulting off the bed. She was grinning at me, that manic, kind of feral smile she had sometimes. "You're a better man than my fiancé," she murmured through that wicked grin.

I backed away from her like I was afraid she was going to attack me or jump me, which I kind of was. "Look, Zoë, I love you, and you know that... But this can't happen." Her eyes widened. I could've kicked myself for telling her it couldn't happen. She was known to take proclamations like that as personal challenges, and the more one tells her no, the more she wants it (so a mild desire can become an obsession). She hates it when people tell her what to do. But I wasn't about to be some Other Man for her, to screw up her wedding and potentially my own sister's for some old feelings. Plus, I've done that before and it never, ever works out for me. She chuckled a little, eyes flashing like she was daring me to stop her or get in her way, that giving it my best shot wouldn't even be enough.

This time, I actually made it across the room. She made no move to stop me, just sat there on my bed staring at me hauntingly. Her eyes had a hypnotic effect sometimes, the swirling whirls of periwinkle, waves of lilac, specks of lavender, and clear bursts of amethyst. I paused at the door, biting my lip and debating whether or not I should say the words on the tip of my tongue. My head told me it was a bad idea and that Casey would undoubtedly kill me if she ever found out, but, at the same time, Zoë deserved the truth. The truth won; what had just happened was as strong an incentive as any. I turned around slowly to look at her. "And I probably shouldn't be saying this, but... honestly, Zo, I don't think you have any business getting married now. You need to figure out where your head's at first. I don't think you're ready to make that kind of commitment to someone if you're not sure and can't really trust him. Marriage... it's one of those things where you need to **know**. Because you can't go around kissing old boyfriends when you're supposed to be engaged and just loving _one_ person," I told her a bit wearily.

She looked surprised at this and opened her mouth to make some little comment, but I was already out the door and headed down to find Lizzie. The longer Zoë and I were talking, the more confused I'd felt, and I needed clarity. Being around her made everything kind of foggy, and, to be honest, I didn't trust myself around her, to somehow not find a way to terribly screw things up. More importantly, however, I needed to explain things to Lizzie or else the holidays would be a real bitch. And get my mind off my unavailable ex-girlfriend (Zoë isn't the only one who wants things she can't have).

There is absolutely no way I can make it through these holidays without Lizzie, as our elder siblings' arrival has only served to prove that Lizzie and I are the only two sane people in this family. The worst thing is that I know it's only going to get worse from here. The awkward encounter at the dress shop and Casey running into Truman were probably the high points of this vacation, and it can only go further downhill from here. And to keep my sanity and not explode at some of the acts of stupidity, vanity, irrationality, and so on and so forth that we will all undoubtedly witness and become embroiled in. But, at the same time, it will be nice to have all the spotlight be back where it belongs, on someone else for a change.

After all, with Casey and Derek both in the house, who's going to ask me uncomfortable, unwanted questions about Lizzie? No one. No one's going to give a damn what I do because there's no way in hell it could top anything that those two and our other insane relatives do. Might as well content myself to sit back and watch the fireworks.

- Loren ;*

Anyway, I apologize in advance for the fact that next chapter is kind of filler-y, and most of it consists of Ed/Liz discussion over quite trivial things and a few bizarre sort of heart-to-hearts. It's lacking the sizzle of this and the chapter after it a bit, but I hope you'll overlook that and still like it anyway. There's a bitty bit of Derek/Casey interaction in it too, a bit that I think shows how much has actually changed between them, and maybe even between Casey and the rest of the family... Basically these chapters are all just a build-up to Christmas Eve... After that it gets quite exciting, I promise!

Anyways, tell me what you think!


	21. Mass

If I subtitled my chapters, this one would be called Of Wonder Woman and Iron Man. In Which Lizzie and Edwin discuss superheroes.

And, before I start out, I'm kind of sorry that nothing much seems to happen in this chapter (and kind of the next chapter). It might seem like a whole lot of talk and little action, but it's just build-up, you know? So you get a bit of Casey and Derek, and then you get some insight into people's motives.

Okay, this one goes out to Hanna... and here's my big justification of Casey, who I know is a bit much to take, and she's full of disapproving looks and all that, but there are reasons, I promise... Anyway, I really do appreciate that you read and enjoy my story. ;) I can see your point, in a way, and I give you credit for framing it in such a way. That being said... First off, did I ever make it seem like Derek/Lizzie was plausible? ;) Actually, I'd say that the way I'm portraying her makes Derek and Lizzie even more implausible if not even impossible as a pairing, which you'll see later. Lol, but seriously... Casey. Where do I start? Well, I'd like to point out that this is the first chapter in which we have directly seen and interacted with Casey, so we've only seen the barest tip of the iceberg when it comes to her. I've got so much more left to show you guys!

And, again, this is in Edwin's POV, so there's a bias there. He doesn't have a particularly close relationship with Casey, nor does he get the benefit of having heart-to-hearts with her, like Nora or Lizzie. What he knows is that her presence stresses everyone around him out, and that his brother's acting weird because of it... and Nora and Lizzie's lives become more difficult. So it's easy for him to seem more sympathetic to Derek because he sees him more and has more of an actual relationship with him, whereas he's barely seen Casey in four years. And I dunno if you can tell, but Edwin kind of has abandonment issues with his mother, so he kind of holds Casey leaving and not looking back against her. It's not gonna make him too fond of her or too trusting.

Also, remember that it's been four years. Derek has changed, so have Edwin and Lizzie, and so must Casey. A lot has happened in those four years, especially to Casey. She's lost her virginity, moved in with a guy, started the weirdness/disowning of Derek, watched her baby bro grow up, fallen in and out of love, broken up and gotten back together with a guy more times than she can count, had her heart broken, and gotten engaged twice. So the Casey that we see now is not the same girl as the happy-go-lucky Mary Sunshine we see on the show. She's a bit tougher, a bit more reserved... and I'd say more about how she's changed, but that would spoil it.

And, as an addendum to that, keep in mind that Casey is under a lot of stress right now. She's a double major in her final year of university, so she's worried about fulfilling all of her requirements and all the obligations that I'm sure she's chained herself to, since Casey can't say no. ;) Also, because she's in her final year of university, Casey has to figure out what she's gonna do with the rest of her life, which of course she already has kind of arranged, but still, graduating is always stressful because there's so many things to do and so many overwhelming feelings! In addition to that, Casey is planning this whole family shin-dig, and her family isn't particularly grateful. Plus, I dunno about you, but being around a lot of family is the quickest way to go out of your mind. Literally. And her family's a lot to rein in.

Plus, Casey has to plan a wedding more or less by herself in less than a year, and she's a perfectionist. You do that math. ;) Also, not to be underestimated, is Derek's presence, which has her considerably on edge in addition to the already ridiculous amount of stress she's under... and when you add Truman and Vicky to that, that's like a factor of 10-100, so she's on the razor's edge, and, as Derek would say, her sanity is already hanging by a thread as it is... it's a wonder it's held this long! ;)

As for the vain and selfish bits... I would say that Casey has exhibited a bit of these traits on the show, and I'm just amplifying it a little, such as in 6 and ½ for the vanity, and The Room and the Home Movies episode and the back to school episode where Casey decides she doesn't know who she is (Back to School Blues? I don't remember), and so on for the selfishness. Oh, or the various episodes where Casey and Derek use Ed and Liz for their own ends (Freaked-Out Friday, Sweet Misery, etc... those episode names may be wrong, but the point still sticks), because Casey is selfish when it comes to Liz quite a bit. But Casey usually overcomes the fit of selfishness. Anyway, in this case, I think Casey has a kind of acceptable reason. SHE'S GETTING MARRIED! So she does, in a way, sort of have a right to be selfish and particular and just-so about it. The vanity was really just because she was trying on wedding dresses, and she wants everything to be perfect. But, basically, getting married can turn even the most sensible women into raging witches. Watch Bridezillas and tell me you couldn't see Casey on there. ;) But it turns already bossy and sometimes insufferable women into whiny, rude, vicious little creatures of their own selfishness and materialism. Also, she's under a lot of stress planning the wedding and with hormones and changing her life and everything, and Derek and Truman and Vicky don't exactly help matters. That is my point, i.e. why Casey is the way she is, in a nutshell. So I hope I addressed all your concerns.

Oh, and one more thing: Casey is just reacting to Derek, and vice-versa. So, for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction. That didn't come out like I wanted it to. Damn. Anyway, just put up with her a bit longer. I promise it'll get more amusing, at least. ;) I had more I wanted to say about her, but I don't remember.

Anyway, the point of this is that understanding Casey takes time, and Ed's not really the guy to ask. And, also, I hope you enjoy this, even if it's not the most exciting chapter ever.

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**Mass:** The conserved property and size measurement of matter independent of its gravitational weight.

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A couple hours after the fiasco with Vicky, when Nora had worked out how it was all going to go (unbelievably, Truman was _still_ staying with us, although he and Vicky were under strict orders to be out of the house as much as possible with a moratorium on displays of public affection firmly in place), a calmer Casey came back downstairs to, in her own words, "properly greet" all of us. Derek didn't joke that she was a Drama major for nothing. I suppose Nora figured kicking him out would be rude, since she'd promised. I'd been trying to explain to Liz and get things back on track, so I wasn't around to see Noel take his sister home, but I was a little glad he had. There's only so much temptation a guy can resist, and it's worse with her because she _knows_ she's irresistible. My bed probably smells like her now, great.

Casey's smile was genuine, although, perhaps, a bit more strained. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was just... preoccupied and a little... high-strung, I guess. All the planning is stressing me out a little," she apologized, making a vague gesture that said the things she didn't. Things like, "you know how it must be for a perfectionist," and "I just want everything to be perfect," and "maybe my expectations are a little too high." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and she didn't really look very great, to tell the truth. Her little encounter had left her a bit worse for the wear; though she'd erased all traces of tears from her face, it looked like she had a headache, and Ms. Prim and Proper was already in her pink and blue cake pajamas.

She waved off Nora and Lizzie's concern, insisting she was fine, even though that was clearly not the case. "I had this horrible dance class before I left, and the bad mood was kind of... infectious," she said carefully, aiming for airiness. Casey taught dance and yoga classes in her scant spare time; it was one of the many ways she supported herself in university, along with tutoring. She did not say that her ill mood was more than likely due to the feeling of being rushed and not having enough time (and seeing her ex with her cousin certainly _hadn't_ helped), a feeling which Casey detested. She hugged Nora first and held on a little too long. "It's good to be back home," she breathed, closing her eyes in her mother's embrace. She kind of sank into Nora a little, like she was looking for comfort. Then she pulled away somewhat reluctantly, with red-rimmed eyes, and wrapped her arms hesitantly around Lizzie, who immediately pulled her in closer.

Casey kissed her sister on the cheek and lingered a little, relying on Lizzie's strength. Her grip, I noticed, was looser than usual. She didn't need to say anything to Lizzie; Lizzie understood perfectly without a single word. Since Dad was nearest, she hugged him next, exclaiming about how good it was to see him again and making some sort of half-hearted joke that Dad actually laughed at. Sebastian, who was at Dad's feet, ran up to her and jumped on her slash into her arms. Casey fell back a little with the weight of him but picked him up nonetheless, balancing him on her hip fondly. She let out a few giggles of delight and flashed him a real smile, playing with him and cooing at him for a few moments. "Oh, 'Bastian, you are just the best dancer I know! No one can quite waltz like you, not even Noel," she decreed with a conspiratorial wink, spinning him around.

He was having the time of his life whirling around with her, playing with her hair and all that. He gave Casey a wet kiss on the cheek, which she returned cheerfully. When Casey finally set him down, he was unsteady on his feet and so dizzy he fell back into Dad's legs. Dad gave Casey a bit of a reproachful look, which, of course, no one took seriously. Then Casey found Marti, who kissed her rather dramatically on both cheeks before pulling her into a bear hug that Casey couldn't escape even if she wanted. "I missed you too, Marti," she said a bit breathlessly, giving her an indulgent smile.

Marti pulled away from her, frowning slightly. "You should come back home more often, Casey. Smerek misses you. He doesn't ever say so, but I know. I'm not stupid," she proclaimed solemnly in a voice that was a little too loud. Derek reddened a little but was too entranced to shoot Marti a look or say something about it. It would've been cute if she was eight or six again, but she was thirteen now, so it was just awkward. Especially so since Derek was staring at Casey intently and taking absolutely no measures to conceal this, and Casey was studiously avoiding even glancing in his direction. She cleared her throat awkwardly and muttered something about how that was nice before heading in my direction.

I wasn't exactly looking forward to the hug, but it was nice to see Casey, even though we had never been particularly close. She cocked her head a bit looking at me and then reached up to ruffle my hair familiarly. It unsettled me a little because it was something Lizzie would've done. "You're getting so tall, Ed. So grown-up," she said fondly, giving me a real smile. I smiled back. "You'll be taller than your brother sometime soon," she remarked an instant later, shooting the briefest of glances in Derek's direction. My eyes widened at the blithe and uncharacteristic comparison; it was almost like our family was normal, the way she'd said that. Then, as if to distract herself from what she'd just said, she pulled me into a warm hug, kissing me on the cheek before I could even process what had just happened.

It felt funny, somehow strange, this whole moment with Casey. I felt kind of lopsided and... almost used... afterwards, but I didn't understand why. Lizzie was frowning a little bit when Casey pulled away, not that I understood why. Derek was a bit less subtle, of course. He stood by the stairs, arms crossed over his chest, a proud but vaguely irritated look on his features. The hollowness and increased angularity in his features and dark circles under his eyes suggested that he'd lost weight and perhaps hadn't been eating or sleeping well. He cleared his throat loudly, causing Casey to pull away from me. Some emotion I couldn't name darkened her face for a moment before she turned around to face him, determination glinting in her eyes.

Derek unfolded his arms from his chest and held them out expectantly as Casey walked towards him slowly. Her lips tightened, and Derek adopted the mocking smirk that was his trademark. "Saved the best for last, eh, Sis?" he quipped, eyes glinting with some kind of dark intent. Casey froze for just a moment. One could've missed it if one didn't know her as well as we did. She kept walking towards him, face deliberately expressionless, like a blank mask.

She stopped within a half a meter of him and forced a very poor imitation of a smile. It rather resembled a grimace. "Hello again, Derek." Then she surprised everyone, Derek included, by taking his hand and giving him a _handshake_, deliberately refusing him the closer, more personal contact she'd shared unthinkingly with the rest of the family. It reminded me of Derek's sixteenth birthday party, where he'd done more or less the same thing to her after hugging Emily and other people. It was strangely out of character given Casey's natural warmth and fondness for hugs, especially given that she'd previously wanted Derek to hug her for quite some time and had just turned down the opportunity when it was finally presented to her. It used to be that that sort of thing was something Derek would do, given his hatred of PDA and family togetherness moments... so when had the tables turned so radically that now it was _Casey _spurning familial displays of affection? Once again there was that feeling that I was missing a piece in the puzzle that would explain all of this, the strange, strained, tension-charged moments where those two met, like some kind of electrical charge passed between them.

Derek bared his teeth in some attempt at a smile, feeling the sting of the gesture. "What, no hug?" he attempted to joke, but it came out tight. He wasn't about to take an insult like that lying down because, of course, he knew it was no accident. Casey could never forget anything where Derek was concerned after all. So Derek jerked on her hand and used the handshake to pull her closer. He leaned in, going in closer for a kiss on the cheek. Casey reluctantly obliged him, pressing her lips to his cheek with a peck so brief one could've blinked and missed it. I wasn't even sure her lips had actually touched his cheek. What I didn't miss was the way Derek turned towards her like he wanted to catch the kiss on his lips.

I can only imagine the look on Casey's face, partly startled, partly horrified, certainly backing away. Derek, being himself, used this moment of proximity to attempt to return the favor. However, Casey pulled away abruptly _just_ before his lips would've touched her cheek. Derek's eyes blazed as if he'd been burned or struck, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he swallowed hard and then the anger vanished abruptly from his features, as if his entire face had been whitewashed. A kind of tightness settled over his features as Casey pulled her hand away, taking a step back. "Always nice seeing you, Casey," Derek seethed, just barely able to maintain the facade before he turned around and sulked back upstairs.

By then, Casey had already turned her back on him and seemed to put the entire incident out of mind, given the fixed, determined look on her face. But her cheeks were still mysteriously flushed nonetheless, even if she didn't say one word about the encounter, despite all the odd looks she was receiving. The truly sad thing was the realization I had a moment later that I was the only one with balls or curiosity enough to attempt asking either of them about it. And then, a moment later, the even sadder realization that I wouldn't. Not that night, at least.

Normally, I would've asked Lizzie what she thought of it all, but she was still kind of mad at me because of the ex-girlfriend I'd never told her about, and the more I talked to her, the more likely she was to ask questions I didn't want to answer. I was really interested to see what would happen now that Casey, her current fiancé, former fiancé, and the bane of her existence were all in the same small house together, but, at the same time, that interest went hand-in-hand with trepidation. With Derek, Truman, and Vicky all here anything was possible.

I went to the kitchen to get a snack and then headed upstairs, thinking the bag of chips and a movie would make for a nice truce with Lizzie. The living room had cleared out by the time I emerged. Nora and Dad had gone downstairs to put Sebastian to bed and probably pass out. Truman and Vicky had headed off to his mom's house for a visit, partly to get out of Casey's hair. Casey herself had either turned in early or, more likely than not, continued the wedding and holiday planning she was doing before, possibly with Lizzie at her side. Noel no doubt was trying to encourage his fiancée to get some rest or probably trying for some uh, private alone time, which unfortunately for him is just not going to happen in this house. Like Casey would even have sex in a room _next_ to Derek? Please!

Derek's friend was in the bathroom, showering after a grueling day of hockey conditioning and taking over Derek's duties. They'd needed Derek at Smelly Nelly's this afternoon because one of the waiters had gotten sick, and Derek had begged out after a few hours, conveniently citing familial obligation and saying his sister was coming and he needed to see her or something to that effect. So Sergei stepped in to fill the rest of Derek's shift and then proceeded to lead hockey practice for the team they coached together. Marti was in her room, talking with Naomi or Dimi or possibly both, but either way being completely insufferable. As for Lizzie, she was either in one of our bedrooms or with Casey, trying to calm the crazy. I'd thought Derek was upstairs, so I was understandably surprised when an arm jerked me off the stairs, sending a few stray chips flying.

The arm that had forcibly grabbed me belonged to my elder brother who proceeded to more or less drag me down the stairs. There was a dark, intent look in his eye, the kind there was when he was thinking deeply about something. Derek hated thinking about anything, and if he'd seen that look on his face, he'd have been tempted to punch it off. He was clearly upset about something, probably Casey, given the tension radiating off of his body in thick waves. "You're watching the game with me," he informed me, nearly throwing me on the couch, plopping down into the armchair, turning the TV on, and grabbing a handful of chips in a fluid motion.

I frowned at him. There hadn't been a game for a couple of days, for starters, and secondly, one certainly wouldn't be on now, which meant that Derek would be watching hockey reruns, which was _never_ good. Derek liked to call it "brotherly bonding," but what the forced hockey-rerun-watching really meant was that Derek was having girl troubles and didn't want to talk about them. The hockey games gave him that opportunity for silence, and my presence allowed him to be alone but not really alone, not alone enough, at least, to be left with just his thoughts. The game was safe, too; since it was a rerun, Derek already knew how it was going to end and wasn't going to get excited or get his hopes up. The glazed, unseeing look in Derek's eyes as he watched the game confirmed my observations. The point of the game was that he didn't really have to pay attention; it was a distraction, albeit one that gave him time to sort out, at least partially, his frame of mind.

Sometimes, if Derek was really desperate or hard up, he'd ask me for advice. I didn't expect him to ask me that time because he hadn't asked me for information about Casey in years, and I figured I'd sneak away after maybe thirty minutes of enduring this boredom without him noticing. However, that was not to be. As soon as the commercial break came on, something came over Derek, and his eyes cleared. He turned to me, a curious look on his face, and then asked me a question I never thought I would hear coming from his mouth, "Hey, Ed, you know about physics, right?"

I think I gaped at him for a solid minute, wondering if Derek had just asked what I thought he'd asked. When he gave me a mildly irritated look, like I was some kind of moron for not saying anything, I realized that he _had_ really asked me that. Then, naturally, I started to wonder why. As far as I knew Derek wasn't even taking any science classes this year. Was it for one of his film projects or something? "Yeah, I guess," I answered slowly, warily. Of course I know about physics. I'm not in Advanced Physics for nothing. Then I remembered something and added a moment later, "But so do you, Bro. Remember summer school?"

Derek grimaced. "Like I could forget the worst first week of summer ever," he muttered. At first I thought he was quiet because that particular time fell in the past period of dangerous Casey interaction. He grunted, glancing back at the screen and slouching a little more in the recliner. "That was years ago," he added distractedly a moment later. I stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to get to the point. He turned and met my gaze, a sardonic look on his face, continuing sarcastically, "And Mr. Nod, tool that he was, never taught me this..." Derek trailed off suddenly, as if he were thinking better of asking me in the first place or as if he felt stupid or something.

This sudden indecision made me want to demonstrate the laws of physics on him by applying force and motion to direction to make Derek accelerate up in the air and then come crashing back down to earth far away from me. Then Derek, who looked very serious all of a sudden, licked his lips and asked, "Ed, what happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?"

It was hard for me to believe he was serious, that he'd actually asked me that particular question. It didn't sound like him. He looked off, too, almost nervous, kind of on edge, but at the same time very determined. It was difficult to reconcile this question and the brother I knew, given that I was certain he'd just crammed all that information the week before his Physics exam and promptly forgotten it later. The guy who didn't get that force equaled mass plus acceleration who had probably never really had a proper grasp on physics just _barely_ managed to scrape a passing grade on the exam. I mean, really, a fifty-one? The only reason he even passed is because it was during summer school.

So how was I to explain this to him in terms he'd understand? I sensed there was some deeper point to Derek's question, but figuring that out wasn't what he'd wanted, obviously, or he'd have asked me directly. If he and Casey had any sort of proper relationship, I'd have told him to go to her, but obviously that's not an option. Sad, though, since she's a lot better with this metaphorical emotional people crap than I am. I sighed, suspecting he wasn't going to like my answer. "It's a paradox, Derek. It can't happen," I told him calmly.

Derek, who had been gazing mindlessly at the TV, started in his chair and turned half around abruptly to face me. His eyes had widened substantially in surprise, having not expected a no in my explanation. "What do you _mean_ it can't?" he exclaimed incredulously. His voice was hard and gruff, a bit sharper than usual, and I could see from the look on his face, or at least the one in his eyes, that this answer upset him far more than even that facial gesture let on. There was a latent anger beneath the surface that he manifested with tight arms and fisted hands on the arms of the recliner.

I knew that, as usual, I wasn't supposed to comment on my brother's strange behavior, to make him aware of how obvious he was being. I managed to avoid rolling my eyes at him and began to explain patiently (but not without a little sarcasm, of course), "Well, ignoring the fact that it's basically the same as asking whether or not God can create a rock so heavy even he can't lift it... They can't both be true at once..." Derek frowned and looked a bit less angry but more confused. "They don't even exist. There are no such things as completely irresistible forces and immovable objects," I stated blankly, hoping to clear up his confusion.

Unfortunately, I'd kind of balled up the explanation. I'm not the greatest at explaining things sometimes. "Believe me, Ed, there _are_," he argued intently, leaning in a little closer, refusing to back down to my obvious superior knowledge. Whatever this was about, and I suspected I knew, it was important to him. The look in Derek's eyes was stubborn and steely, as close to an immovable object as he was going to get, I'm sure. But, then again, Derek was never really the immovable object in this equation, now was he?

I gave him a vaguely cross look and prevented him from saying anything further. "-And I'm telling you there aren't." I paused a moment, sizing him up. He still looked agitated; he was leaning rather heavily on the arm of the recliner closest to me. Then I continued rather pointedly but in a tone slow and cool enough to at least seem inoffensive, "Which I believe _you_, of **all** people, should know, right, Derek?" Derek stiffened in a kind of flinch. His jaw tightened and a vaguely petulant look passed over his face so quickly I would've missed it if I'd blinked. So he did know, after all, and just didn't want to admit it. "After all, that's why you're asking me, isn't it?"

Derek crossed an arm over his chest in an attempt to seem more calm. It did not work. His knuckles were angry white. "Why _don't_ they exist then, Smart-Ass?" Derek bit out, staring violently into the empty space in front of him. I wondered for a moment what exactly Derek wanted me to say to him but somehow knew, instinctively, that I couldn't offer it to him. All I could and would give him was the truth... and maybe the answer to his question was never really mine to give.

This complicated train of thought was getting harder and harder for me to follow. I inhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose, and began to explain in more detail, closing my eyes and slipping into teacher mode. "Immovable objects can't exist because even the smallest amount of pressure results in motion. And in order to resist inertia and _be_ immovable, such an object would have to have infinite mass. I don't think I need to say why an object like that couldn't exist, but... an object that big would be **too** big... it would collapse in on itself due to the size of its own gravity," I told him, glancing up at him when I'd finished. I refrained from saying it would become a black hole or swirling vortex of doom because I think about black holes and dark matter and other purely theoretical topics entirely too much, and well, talking about such dark things is going to put Derek in an even blacker mood. "You get what I'm saying now?"

He actually looked interested in what I had to say, like he was hanging on to every word. There was a kind of feverish look in his eyes, a glint of something fleeting. He nodded, looking vaguely thoughtful, like he was planning something. Maybe there was something I'd told him that encouraged him or gave him reason to think something differently. I don't know; I don't get what's going on in his brain. His eyes narrowed faintly. "And what about irresistible forces?" he demanded urgently, a burning look in his eyes.

I managed to crack a smile. "Even _you_ aren't irresistible all the time, are you, Derek?" I drawled, faintly amused, persisting, "People do tell you no sometimes, don't they?" I let out kind of an indulgent chuckle, but Derek's face was unmoving, as if he could will his every subatomic particle to stop vibrating in space and just stand still. He'd flinched outright when I'd asked the first question as a joke and then just shut down entirely, like I'd killed whatever had been fluttering around in his head, gaining ground. "Seriously, though," I continued a bit more soberly, feeling bad for him, "if you really want to know..." His eyes, sharp and dark, cut across to let me know he did. "An irresistible or unstoppable force would require an infinite amount of energy."

I don't believe in infinity; everything in life is finite. I guess I was trying to say without really saying it that Derek doesn't have an infinite amount of energy and that he can't go on like this forever. But you know how Derek is; if he doesn't want to hear something, then he just doesn't hear it. "A pace like that... it's impossible to keep up," I added softly a moment later, looking him over. Derek was proof of my statement. Whatever he'd been doing lately, whatever had been eating him, was draining him, wearing him down. You could see it in his face. But, still, despite the fatigue, Derek was all hard edges and sharp angles and stubbornly insistent on getting whatever he had in mind. "And Derek, believe me, _nothing_ in this life is infinite. We live in a finite universe composed of numbers and limits," I continued wearily, almost pleading with him to stop whatever it was he was pursuing. Some contest of wills, no doubt.

Still, that fact seemed to steel him somehow. It shouldn't have, but it did. "We all have our limits," he murmured thoughtfully, expression turning enigmatic and scheming. His eyes and jaw were still as hard as ever, shaken but determined. "So how do you answer the question then? What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?" he insisted bluntly, restating his question. This time he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He was living in his own world beyond the laws of physics and making his own rules, as always.

At first I was annoyed because it was like he'd heard everything I said but hadn't listened to a single word. I opened my mouth to protest or make some comment, but Derek silenced me with a dark look. The look on his face was that of a man going to war, resolute, settled, vaguely grim, and willing to do whatever it took to ensure his survival. I swallowed hard; the look on his face scared me. Why is this so important to him? He looked like a stranger all of a sudden, this brother of mine, and the way he was acting made me wonder if I had ever really known him. "Nothing good, that's for sure," I told him gloomily.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on Derek's face. His eyes found mine again. This time they were a little lighter, as if amused almost, but filled with secrets I probably couldn't begin to comprehend. He looked away quickly, though, lest I somehow uncover whatever he was planning via his uncommunicative gaze. "The third law of motion gives you _satisfaction_. For every force made, there's an opposite reaction," Derek recited in a wry sort of sing-song voice, rubbing his chin. I gave him a strange look, which he barely seemed to register. The half-smile fell off his face slowly and he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You can go now, Ed." He'd gotten all he wanted to know from me.

I'd tried my best to warn him, but somehow I sensed that whatever he was on about wasn't going to work out well. After all, no one's irresistible or immovable, no matter how much they want to be. And just because there's an equal and opposite reaction for every force exerted doesn't mean you know what that force is going to be or how it'll be channeled. And, honestly, even if Derek knew or could guess, I wasn't sure he'd want to know or be prepared to deal with that force. I glanced back at him worriedly before getting up and heading up to my bedroom. Thinking about Derek isn't going to help anything; I might as well at least focus on the things I can fix.

When I walked into my room, a bored-looking Liz was lounging on my couch, watching some mindless TV show. She'd changed into a camisole and shorts, so I was immediately struck by the amount of skin I was seeing. When she heard me enter, Lizzie didn't even bother to look up from whatever she was watching (probably some special on Animal Planet). She was still a little pissed so she pretended like she was impervious to my presence. "Hey, Liz, you wanna watch something a little better than lion porn?" I asked casually, thrusting the half-full popcorn bowl into her lap. She looked at me then, giving me a vaguely sour, distasteful look. "How 'bout Iron Man instead?"

Her frown deepened, and she looked away from me determinedly, fixing her stare on the screen. I guess that comment I made about lion porn got to her... probably also since the program was on tigers. I was just glad she didn't notice that I was still unashamedly staring at the length of her legs stretched out across my couch. "It's not Superhero Week," she said petulantly, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth. Superhero Week usually occurred around New Years' Eve, since both of us thought watching the ball drop was lame and had no desire to go to an equally lame friend's party, though it did make a resurgence in the event of the opening of a superhero movie.

Her body had tensed a little when I'd come in, despite her best efforts to remain impassive, and the lines of her body were still taut. "So what?" I shrugged, flopping down onto the couch next to her and nearly upsetting the bowl of popcorn on her lap. She gave me a dirty look before going back to her television, scooting away from me as if I had a highly contagious deathly illness. "I like Iron Man, and you like Robert Downey, Junior." Unlike usual, I did not point out the man's many flaws, such as the fact that he is old enough to be her father. "I'm not seeing the problem with this..."

Liz turned around to give me an irritated look. She did this in silence so as to annoy me further because obviously I can't do anything if I don't know what the problem is. I knew it had something to do with Zoë, but, frankly, I didn't get why she could still be mad at me about that, and I couldn't think of anything further to say on the subject. I've talked more about that relationship in the past day than I ever did in the entire duration of said relationship. "C'mon, Liz, there's no rule that says we can't start Superhero Week a little early... And maybe this time we'll get to watch Daredevil or Elektra," I continued coaxing.

She rolled her eyes at me, chucking a handful of popcorn in my face. It hurt more than one would think. "I hate Ben Affleck," she hissed, turning away from me. "Besides, there's already the various Superman and Batman Days, X-Men Day, Spiderman Day... which I already think is kind of a waste of time, but you've got a soft spot for the spider-freak... and Random Marvel Superhero Day..." she listed off on her fingers, sounding more bored than she actually was. We both hated the Fantastic Four (yes, I hate that movie, despite Jessica Alba's presence), so that was out.

"-Wonder Woman. We could rent the TV series," I suggested quickly. Lizzie turned to look at me and scoffed loudly, a look of disgust passing over her face.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "_Figures_ you'd say something like that." I threw Lizzie a confused look, wanting her to elaborate, which she all too easily ignored. "Ugh, you just wanna see Lynda Carter in that skimpy little outfit. I mean, sheesh, do you secretly like bondage or something?" she continued disgustedly. This time I gave Lizzie a dirty look. Yes, Lizzie, I enjoy being dominated by Amazons because clearly my life is not already run by women _enough_, what with you, Tanya, Marti, Casey, Nora, and, on the rare occasions when she decides to insert herself, my birth mother.

"Since when do you have a problem with Wonder Woman? She's basically you in a swim suit and boots," I quipped mildly amusedly. Of course, my motives aren't purely good; I'd prefer to watch a brunette fox to some of the other truly abominable superhero movies we have to choose from. Lizzie raised an eyebrow at me, not-so-subtly glancing down at her own physique, which is considerably more athletic and less... voluptuous than the brunette bombshell that is Wonder Woman. That being said, Lizzie, like Wonder Woman, is a blue-eyed brunette, environmentalist, and Amazon on a relentless quest for truth and justice, strong, active, brave, relentless, and a little bit sassy. I don't know why she can't see the parallels. I gave her a look. "Liz, you _own_ red boots, a lasso, and silver bracelets..."

She rolled her eyes at me. I frowned at her. "And, besides, you vetoed my suggestion for watching Xena: Warrior Princess. And Indiana Jones and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider aren't allowed... And you think Adam West as Batman is too ridiculous to stomach..." I continued in a wheedling tone of voice that made Lizzie shove me to shut me up. She doesn't consider the aforementioned characters superheroes because they don't have superpowers or comics based on them. Plus I think she has a problem with me ogling Angelina Jolie and Lucy Lawless, even if it's just on screen.

She huffed, "**You** can like her all you want, Ed, but I am _not_ a Princess-y kind of girl, Edwin! Not even if she fights crime and kicks ass." I'd forgotten that Wonder Woman was, apparently, a princess. But it's not like I didn't know that about Lizzie. Princess is a watchword with her because it's inevitably bound up in comparisons to Casey, whom both Derek and her father call Princess. Given that these are the two men in the world whom Lizzie most esteems, and the best she gets from either of them is Kiddo or Sport, it's pretty evident why this is an issue.

I frowned at her, seizing on something. "What's with all this "you" business, Liz?" I asked. She was making things oddly personal, I found. Liz stiffened back up again, and I took the opportunity to get more comfortable on the couch. Before she could even formulate a response, I'd grabbed her feet and placed them in my lap.

This gesture took Lizzie by surprise enough to elicit an answer out of her. She sighed, looking a bit uncomfortable with my hands still on her feet but not uncomfortable enough to move away. "Oh, come on, like the fact that Wonder Woman is a dead-ringer for your ex-girlfriend somehow escaped you?" she bit in sarcastically, like she was kind of ashamed to admit it. My eyes widened in surprise. I hadn't been expecting it to come back to her, but of course Liz would take things back to what she's mad about in the first place. I blinked, more disturbed by the realization I'd just had—that Zoë and Lizzie were far more alike than I'd ever really realized (and sad, too, since that had been one of the things I'd liked best about Zoë, that she'd had nothing whatsoever to do with Lizzie)... in coloring, in attitude, in calling me on my BS. Then she was snapping her fingers in front of my eyes, and it was better to not dwell on those comparisons. "Hello, Earth to Edwin!"

I snapped out of it quickly. "Ugh," I said nudging her shoulder with mine and whining a little, "Come on, I wanna watch Iron Man." Lizzie rolled her eyes but this time I caught the amusement and traces of fondness in her expression. Had she gotten over the Zoë thing? I had a nasty feeling she hadn't exactly gotten over it and would undoubtedly bring it up at some incredibly inconvenient time to pick a fight with me, but what else could I say about her?

Liz let out a long sigh, making a big show of humoring me. "Okay. Fine," she conceded. I allowed a victorious smile to cross my lips, but Lizzie held up a finger. "As long as you promise to never again make me sit through that god-awful Hulk movie ever, ever, _ever_ again. As much as I love the color green, and, for that matter, Eric Bana, I effing hate that movie. And rageaholics. Guys like that make me want to just punch people in the nuts," she added a moment later, giving me a stern look and holding out her pinkie for the promise. I snorted but shook her pinkie with my free finger anyway.

She smiled at me crookedly, snuggling into me a little bit more. "Besides," she sighed, eyes fluttering a little, "I can't say no to you when you're massaging my feet like that. Your Hands. Are. Magic." I hadn't realized I'd been massaging her feet, but it had come to me naturally, kneading and rubbing the sore muscles. Liz moaned a little, stretching in with pleasure and ease like a sleepy feline. I tried valiantly to ignore the slight affect that sound had on me, pulling away so I could get up, find the movie, and put it in. Lizzie whined faintly in protest, but I was back at her side soon enough to shut her up.

It was nice to watch a movie with her and not have to think or pay attention or analyze every little thing, to assume that every motivation didn't have to be discovered or sniffed out. I was drifting in and out of the movie, half paying attention, when Liz straightened a little, glancing at me suddenly. "I think you just like this movie because you see yourself in him," she said pointedly, gesturing to the screen. It wasn't so much an accusation as a statement; she was kind of annoyed I'd stopped massaging her feet.

I gave her a confused look, trying to piece what she'd just said into something coherent. Apparently my mind had decided it was going on vacation after being in overdrive all day. "I do not! I'm _nothing_ like his character. I have my life together, a fairly large group of family and friends, and I am not an alcoholic playboy," I attempted to protest. It came off rather feeble from a lack of energy since I was more or less on the verge of falling asleep. If anything, I thought dimly, looking at the movie, this guy's more like _Derek_ than me!

Liz threw me a skeptical look. "Really, Ed? If I'm Wonder Woman, _you're_ Iron Man," she said challengingly if not a bit mockingly. I made a half-assed effort to roll my eyes but couldn't manage to care enough to do it successfully. Lizzie kept looking at me, perhaps disappointed by my lack of a verbal protest. "Do I have to list it all out for you?" I nodded, wondering in which way I was truly like the character of Iron Man. "Yeah? Okay..." she affirmed, thinking for a moment before continuing. This ought to be good. "You're a genius, for one, and don't deny it, you are," she told me with a look. I'm not positive, but I don't think I have the requisite IQ number for such a qualification, but I was too tired to debate the veracity and accuracy of Lizzie's statement and measurement methods. "You're good at fixing things and good with your hands," she continued. A bit of a flush spread across her cheeks, and I allowed myself a smile and half an eyebrow waggle.

She glared at me, naturally. I may have a natural aptitude for fixing things, and yeah, I can look at something and more or less figure out how it works, but the main reason I'm so good at fixing things is because I worked at a hardware store for six months, and I had a few computer repair jobs. "You were in Robotics Club, don't think I forgot, and I _know_ you're looking at tech schools, despite your supposed disinterest in technology slash engineering," Liz continued pointedly. Her eyes were like lasers, cutting right through me. I flinched at the reference to the incredibly poor decision I made my first year of high school to join the Robotics Club. She said that on purpose just to bug me; she knows I hate being reminded of that incident. The saddest thing about it, too, is that our school doesn't even have a decent Robotics Club. That was the worst part of being in Robotics (and I know you're wondering _what was the good part?_).

I stared at Lizzie openmouthed, disbelief written as plainly across my face as Newton's Laws of Motion in Principia Mathematica. How the _hell_ did she know that? Had she been looking through my applications? I thought we'd both agreed we weren't going to talk to each other about that stuff, applications and all that. It was doubly weird that she knew I was exploring all my options too because I hadn't told anyone apart from Paul, and that was just because he was my guidance counselor and saw the applications I was submitting... so I didn't really have a choice. Liz must know then where I've applied or else she's become much more adept at snooping through my personal things than I'd ever imagined, especially given her loathing of violating privacy.

Lizzie hadn't stopped talking, however. She listed off qualities on her fingers. "Let's not forget your entrepreneurial spirit, or the fact that you're interested in stuff like aeronautics, space, rockets, and nuclear science... You have issues with your dad and authority figures." I made a face at that comment despite its evident truth. She carried on undeterred, naturally. "Oh, and despite what you say, Ed," she said, fixing me with a dirty look, "you do kinda get around... short relationships, a fling every now and then, not to mention Sylvia and Michelle and Tanya... you even like the same type of girls as the character!"

I gaped at Lizzie, unable to believe she'd just said that I get around. I was mildly insulted that she thinks I'm really that easy, but I suppose she must assume that all of my sexual liaisons are one-night stands since I can count the number of vaguely serious relationships I've been in on one hand. Still, her thinking that of me makes me feel a little dirty and kind of scummy... and is that why she thinks she can use me for that kind of thing? Does she in her drunken, sleepy consciousness think it doesn't mean anything? If that's true, then I can't decide which of us is more messed up, her for thinking so or me for my absence of meaningful relationships.

My brow furrowed. I was glad she hadn't mentioned Zoë, whom I _had_ actually had sex with, but only one of the girls she'd mentioned I'd _ever_ had sex with, and Michelle was the only one I'd ever really had a relationship with. It made me glad she didn't know about Rebecca. "Forgive me, but doesn't he like _all_ kinds of women?" I interjected a bit sharply, gesturing to the character. Liz looked back at the screen and nodded but did not deny her accusation. It annoyed me too because the only redhead I've ever had anything with was Rebecca, and I don't think that counts 'cause I was so drunk I would've slept with a horse, just about.

"And don't think I haven't seen you checking out my legs and Gwyneth Paltrow's in that skirt," Liz countered knowingly, shifting her legs and drawing my attention back to them so she could actually catch me staring. I was slightly mortified and had nothing to say to that. So she'd noticed that too? Since when had Lizzie become so observant? Or had I just become more obvious? While I was slightly horrified with this train of thought and still guiltily eying Lizzie's legs, she continued, "And you're a smart-ass but charming when you want to be. And then there's the fact that you kinda look like him, and that his first name is your middle name... Am I missing anything here?" She turned to look at me expectantly, smug grin firmly in place.

I raised a brow. I didn't know you knew so much about me, Liz. It occurred to me then that I didn't exactly know how Lizzie thought of me, even after all of these years, and for some reason, that bothered me. On the one hand, she had complimented my looks, intelligence, skills, and general personality, but on the other, she had embarrassed me and more or less called me a manwhore. And there was no escaping the fact that a lot of what she'd said had hit a little too close to the mark. "Anthony is only _one_ of my middle names..."

That was the only one of her statements I bothered to acknowledge. Liz pursed her lips and gave me a vaguely cross look. The gesture made her look a bit like a scolding teacher. She smacked my chest lightly, pressing more of her weight on me as she leaned towards me. "Yeah, and you won't tell me the other one! And George doesn't remember, and it's not like I can exactly call your mom up..." she protested vaguely irritably. It bothered Lizzie, knowing that I had two middle names, and she didn't know the second one.

To be fair, I'd long ago decided that my second middle name was superfluous (and I was the only one of my siblings with two middle names, and I'd already gotten the short end of the stick with Edwin, so I didn't need another horrible name to hold on to), odious, and generally repulsive to me. It's long, and no one remembers it but me, just about, so it was one of those things that was just better left unsaid to not confuse anyone. I kept it secret not just out of simplicity and my sheer hatred of the name but also out of the fact that I liked keeping something to myself. "Why do you really want to know my second middle name?"

Liz rolled her eyes at me, giving me an exasperated look. I tried not to smile. Part of the reason I had never told her was because it was amusing to watch her get all annoyed about it, and it made me feel a little bit less like she knew everything about me. "Because you won't tell me, stupid, and I'm your best friend, and I'm supposed to know everything about you," she retorted, sounding annoyed with me. I fought the urge to chuckle. "And I already know it starts with F 'cause you told me that one time when you were really drunk..." she went on a bit smugly. I thought fondly that she sounded a bit like her older sister in Detective Mode.

I cocked my head at her, not even vaguely remembering the occasion she'd mentioned. I wasn't supposed to have told her that. I must've been really drunk to even tell her that much. "Did I?" I asked, faintly amused, in a tone that was clear I was humoring her. She's going to start guessing now, though, which is the problem. Sadly, there aren't too many names that start with F, and she's bound to hit on it eventually...

She nodded abruptly. "-But I can't find your birth certificate-" she continued rapidly, an annoyed look flitting across her features.

"Yeah, I think Dad lost it several years back..." I interrupted fondly. Dad may have lost it, or I may have... appropriated it. I don't really remember, but it's amusing to me that Lizzie would attempt to track it down. I wonder what she'd do if she realized I was hiding a lot of other things from her. Would she be similarly determined to figure out my deepest, darkest secrets? Or is the fact that she thinks she already knows them the reason why she hasn't started looking?

"-and I doubt _Derek_ even knows..." Lizzie trailed off, frowning. I tried to remember if Derek did, but could only come up with a maybe. Realistically I don't think Derek is that interested in my life, and since Dad could never remember it when he attempted to discipline me... I don't know, though; Derek likes to surprise you with little things like that sometimes. I smirked at Lizzie, who looked put-out for a moment before she jumped me and started tickling me.

Unfortunately for her, however, I'm really not ticklish, so it just felt unpleasant. I managed to push her backwards, and she fell back on her heels, bending farther back than I'd ever imagined she could. She raised an eyebrow and stared at me in silence for a moment before kicking me lightly and turning back to the movie. "Francis." I shook my head almost imperceptibly and saw her frown out of the corner of my eye. "Felix." Once again I shook my head. "Floyd?" she asked a bit more uncertainly. That one got a guffaw. "Fernando?" I rolled my eyes at her.

"What, do I look like an ABBA song to you?" My mother, who had inevitably been the one to insist on the ridiculous name, just as she'd insisted on the ever-archaic Edwin, had saddled me with the unfortunate name because it was an old, dignified name that apparently ran back in our family for centuries or something, all the way back to when they were in England or wherever. However, since, in my own head at least, I've disowned Mom, I think I've disowned that entire side of the family. Lizzie opened her mouth to guess again, but I got up. "I'm going to get something to drink. You want something?"

"I'll pause the movie for you," Liz said a bit grudgingly. I rolled my eyes, knowing how little attention she'd been paying to the movie. She looked at me contemplatively. "Hot cocoa?" she asked, quirking her head and looking at me in a way that reminded me of a faithful dog or Marti when she was small and actually pleasant to be around. I nodded slowly and headed to the door, intending to leave. Lizzie's voice stopped me in my tracks. "Don't take too long, Fortinbras!"

I snorted, not even bothering to turn around. "Nice try, Liz, but you're gonna have to do better than that!" I could sense her pouting and wondered vaguely how long she'd keep up with it. Something (or someone, I suppose) would come along to distract her soon enough, and she'd probably have entirely forgotten about it tomorrow. As my feet touched the bottom landing, I noted with some displeasure that Vicky and Truman had returned. Truman was leaning against the banister, entirely too close to where I was standing, a moony yet faintly displeased look on his face.

My brother was still attempting to watch TV but was being distracted by Vicky's presence on the arm of the couch. It was impossible not to notice that she'd hiked her skirt up a bit, revealing plenty of tanned thigh. Derek's eyes kept flicking back over to them, as if he was entranced, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was thinking about someone else's (more muscular) thighs. Ew, I don't want to even think about anything remotely resembling Casey's thighs. Vicky was laughing at something Derek had said, probably to get her to go away since she was ruining his ritual. "You know, Derek, we could have a lot of fun together..." Vicky drawled, finding Derek's arm and tracing it lightly.

I glanced over to Truman, to see how he'd handle watching his girlfriend flirt with another guy. He looked vaguely annoyed and maybe a little sad, but he didn't seem to care enough to say anything about it. I could see that it did bother him a little, though, with the way his lips were a thin white line. Derek didn't even roll his eyes. "Oh, I remember," Derek said distractedly, pausing for a moment to lick his lips. He hadn't taken his eyes off the television screen. Vicky was staring at his lips none-too-subtly, a triumphant smile on her lips, and the expression on her face made me a little nauseous. "But I'm not really in the mood, Vicky," he finished boredly.

Vicky gaped at him a little, and I heard Truman stifle a chuckle. Vicky stiffened, having heard it, but didn't deign to look at her boyfriend. "Funny," she said tightly, pausing theatrically before adding darkly, "From what Casey's told me, you're always in the mood." At the mention of our stepsister's name, Derek's eyes immediately shot over to Vicky, as if gaging what she knew. He stared at her for a moment in silence, either judging or debating which question to ask. Vicky smirked, leaning forward so that her legs brushed against Derek's arm. "So, is my cousin right about you?" she asked conspiratorially, raising a brow in a sort of challenge.

The mention of Casey's name had also caused something in Truman's gaze to flicker back into life, but he continued to coolly regard his girlfriend and my brother with blithe acceptance. Derek shrugged, maintaining her stare. "Casey's _always_ right, isn't she?" he muttered sarcastically, a bit mockingly. The darkness in his voice raised Vicky's hackles a little bit; there was something downright chilling in his tone. A bitter little smile formed on Derek's lips as he continued, "Except when it comes to me." Vicky gave Derek a queer look, as if she couldn't quite figure out what to make of him; this answer had clearly thrown her. I could tell what Derek really meant; he didn't want anything to do to Vicky after what she'd just done to Casey, but Derek wasn't about to say that, of course.

Vicky ran a hand down his arm caressingly, and Derek pulled it away, a pinched expression passing over his face. She made some other completely obvious attempt to come on to him, but Derek had finally had enough. He turned to glance at Vicky just barely with a look of thinly-concealed revulsion. She had interrupted his vigil, his private ritual, and he wasn't about to forgive that. "I know that Truman is just a poor man's version of me, and you want an upgrade... but seriously, Vicky, you're with him. At least pretend to act like it," Derek sneered with an uncharacteristic bluntness, rising from his recliner like a king. He usually relied on his cleverness rather than the bluntness of his words to intimidate and insure his will be done.

The expression on Truman's face darkened and tightened bitterly when Derek said this, as if it was a kind of sore point with him—and it had to be, because, judging from the trace of smugness in my brother's expression, it was some sort of reference to Truman and Casey's relationship. Derek stalked over to the stairs, not even bothering to flick off the television. That job was clearly intended for lesser mortals such as myself because everyone knows Ice Queen Victoria isn't going to do it. Truman stopped my brother at the base of the stairs (I'd wisely moved up to the landing, though none of them had noticed me whatosever) with a firm arm on his shoulder. "Must you always get in the middle of my relationships?" He sighed vaguely irritably. "It was bad enough when you were always hanging around Toronto, sniffing around Casey, even though she wanted nothing to do with you... Trying to get her to break up with me," Truman jeered quietly, so Vicky wouldn't hear.

She rolled her eyes, of course, not caring one whit about her boyfriend talking about his ex (if she heard, at any rate). An microexpression vaguely akin to a flinch appeared on Derek's face, but it disappeared quickly, like a flash of light. I gaped at Truman and turned to stare at my brother. He'd gone down to visit Casey in Toronto, unsolicited? And not just once but enough times for Truman to comment on it and be annoyed by it? I'd always known Derek to be persistent, but perhaps all of that persistence had been used up on that fruitless quest for... did Derek even know what he was looking for there in Toronto? Derek must've been down there all the time, then... how did none of us pick up on this? No wonder Derek was such a ghost around town that second semester!

Another thing Truman had said troubled me: firstly, the fact that Truman knew Derek was there, which probably meant they'd had a significant amount of interaction, most likely when Casey wasn't there. I've never known the two of them to have a conversation, let alone be in each other's company for more than five minutes in a public place. They go out of their way to avoid interacting... so what had changed over the years? The second thing that bothered me was what he'd said about Casey wanting nothing to do with him. It didn't particularly come as a surprise to me, given her behavior towards him over the past few years, but did that mean that Casey had _refused_ to see Derek whenever he'd visited? How long had this strangeness been going on between them? What else didn't I know?

Then there was the final nagging question linked to the comment Truman had made about Derek trying to get Casey to dump him. _How_, exactly, had my brother gone about doing that? How was Truman so certain? And, also, given everything else Truman said, it's clear that Derek was unsuccessful in his goal and that's... just not Derek. I wondered if that meant there was any truth to the rumor I'd heard that Casey breaking up with Truman had occurred as a result of a conversation with Derek. That sort of thing had been known to happen before, after all. The girl had dumped Max, gone out on a platonic-non-date with Noel, and gotten back together with Truman all after talking with Derek, as if he exercised some bizarre power over her love-life. On second thought, with a head as swollen as Jupiter, he probably sucked her into his orbit, into the universe where he's the sun and everything and everyone revolves around him.

Derek scowled at him and jerked his shoulder out from Truman's grip. He managed a bit of a sneer. "Funny, isn't it?" Derek chuckled, eyes flickering menacingly, pausing deliberately before leaning in and getting in Truman's face a little. "How without even trying, I _still _manage to get between you and your girlfriend?" he drawled, a proud smirk forming on his lips, rising up in smugness. He glanced briefly at Vicky, just to show that he could more or less have her at his disposal if he wanted, but Truman didn't notice. Vicky's preening under my brother's briefest of looks wasn't the reason why a murderous expression passed over Truman's face. "You ever wonder what the reason for that is, Tru? What I've got that you don't?" Derek continued, voice taking on a decidedly mocking undertone. He was dangerously close to outright insulting Truman and starting something.

Truman smiled grimly, though it was more baring his teeth at my brother than anything remotely resembling a pleasant expression. He'd crossed his arms over his chest evenly and took a step towards Derek. "No," he said slowly, coolly, "but I do find the time to think about the things I've _had_ that you never will." Derek's eyes flashed dangerously, like a tiger before pouncing or fireworks just starting to ignite. Truman allowed that smug grin of his to spread across his features. The look on Derek's face intensified to a determined expression that revealed his desire to punch Truman in the face.

Instead of coming to blows as I more than half expected, Derek eased his face into a blank expression. "Never say never," Derek replied enigmatically. I almost rolled my eyes at the quote. He said it like he meant more than it did, expression (wiggling eyebrows, smug grin) plain that he wanted Truman to interpret the phrase suggestively. I was, frankly, surprised Truman bought it, given how my brother had, at least momentarily, shown that Truman's words had gotten to him. Truman couldn't sense when someone was lying to him, even after all of his personal experience? Then, having gotten the last word, Derek turned on his heel and went upstairs, leaving a flummoxed, slack-jawed Truman in his wake. Vicky flounced by me, throwing Truman barely a scornful glance in her haste to follow my uninterested brother, who I'm sure locked the door behind him.

Again, how no one noticed me, I have no idea, except for the fact that people only notice me when it's convenient. Truman sagged against the wall, letting out a weary, tortured sigh. I frowned, having the nasty feeling that my brief trip to get beverages was about to turn into some schmaltzy emo fest. Watching Truman carefully, I tried to gage whether or not he was going to cry or make some equally melodramatic show of emotion, simply overcome at being in Casey's house, or the same building as her for the first time since he moved out. Then, surprising me, he turned around, stalked over to the recliner and kicked it once, twice, then three times, fairly hard.

I rolled my eyes, unimpressed at his displacement. Wow, equating Derek's chair with Derek and causing yourself pain in the process as you are kicking an inanimate object, that's really novel! And, to think, my sister almost married this Einstein! I couldn't help but chuckle when he, like his girlfriend before him, winced at the pain and went around cursing under his breath none-too-subtly and hopping. I didn't hear what he was saying, but I didn't need to. I've cursed my own brother enough to know all the right words. At the sound of my snicker, Truman whirled around, angry look still on his face, trying to puff himself off and pretend I hadn't just witnessed him kicking a chair.

The attempt to save face had only happened because he thought I was Derek or some other family member who would use this against him to make him feel as vaguely pathetic as he is. As it was, Truman almost fell over in doing this, so I just about laughed my ass off. I came down the stairs then because, well, the jig was up, and I had promised Lizzie hot cocoa. Besides, messing with my sisters' ex-boyfriends, now that's amusing stuff, especially if they still obviously want to get back with them, as Truman so obviously did. He might've made fun of Derek earlier, but he's the one who looks like a hangdog now, with that mopey, dopey expression on his face.

Your emotion touches me, really, it does, but it's called grow a pair, dude. For a moment I stayed silent, partly to leave him in suspense and partly because I wanted to decide which approach to use on him. I could've made a snarky comment, but Truman was sure to get plenty of those from my other family members, so I didn't really see the need. Derek was a lot better at it, and there was Lizzie to threaten him with pure force. I felt a little bad for him, but not bad enough to let him off easy. So I went with the direct approach. "Truman, what the hell are you doing here?"

Truman raised a brow, looking simultaneously surprised and somewhat embarrassed. One of the girls could've made him feel ashamed, I'm sure, but that wasn't what I was after. I frowned at him, cocking my head. "I mean, seriously, why on Earth did you ever think this was a good idea? Coming to our house as Vicky's boyfriend to stay with us for Christmas... surprise, surprise! You don't _do_ that, man. You don't go to your ex-girlfriend's family's house for Christmas," I continued succinctly. It wasn't really telling him off so much as stating the obvious. It was an immense breach of break-up etiquette and politesse, since he hadn't asked permission but had tagged along on his girlfriend's back.

He kind of winced, but there was a new stubbornness that glinted in his eyes. This was, after all, the Truman who had attempted to make shots at my brother. The old Truman would've never done that, but, then again, I don't think he would've sat around and let his girlfriend flirt with another guy, much less a guy like Derek. He gave me this look that I'm sure he practiced in the mirror, a look as if to say he didn't give a damn what I thought about his behavior. He was giving the look to the wrong person. My frown deepened. "Truman, don't give me that look. Right now all you're managing to do is look like Derek. And you can't pull that off," I told him bluntly. He really doesn't have the face for it; he's still a bit too gaunt. "Do you _really_ want to be the Derek wannabe my brother has accused you of being?"

That shut him up. Truman's mouth snapped or flapped shut, and the stupid look fell right off his face. I shrugged diffidently. "Besides, you've seen how well that approach has been working for Derek lately... and it's not going to help you get Casey back," I quipped a moment later. I realized all too late that it sounded like I was going to help him get Casey back, which wasn't at all what I intended to do. He perked up too, like he thought I was actually going to assist him, even though it was the farthest thing from my mind.

He stared at me for a good moment, gaging me, and I stupidly didn't take the chance to clarify that I wasn't going to help him get my sister. "What makes you think I want Casey back?" he asked suddenly, rather stupidly. I rolled my eyes at him and gave him a look. Do I look like an utter moron? Truman pouted slightly, caving under my look and at the ridiculous pretense that he'd come all the way to her family house with the intention of not making an attempt to get back with her. "Okay, so you're right." He sighed, sitting on the arm of Derek's recliner. "So what do I do?"

He was looking up at me like I had the answer to this question, like I even knew what Casey liked or actually approved of his suit. It reminded me distinctly and unpleasantly of a similar conversation I'd had with Jamie. Unlike that particular conversation, this time I was especially determined not to encourage him. "How the hell am **I** supposed to know that, Truman? I'm not God, and I'm _not_ going to tell you how to get my **engaged** sister back," I muttered irritably, wondering not for the first time why people always seemed to turn to me for advice. I'm a pragmatist, too, so I'm not going to paint rainbows or say everything's possible and "you can do anything." I say what's true and what's likely to happen, as close to reality as possible... and reality is generally some shade of unpleasant. I can't help that; it's just the truth, and more often than not, people don't want to hear it or accept it.

Truman frowned now, sinking into the leather of the recliner's arm a little, looking a bit hurt. The pitiful attempt to make me feel guilty actually made me bristle because it was just him attempting to foist his problems onto my shoulders when the entire situation is actually his fault. What did he expect me to say? I exhaled shortly and tried to find some patience within myself so I could get the answers I sought. "Look, Truman, I'm not talking to you now because I want to help you with Casey." I decided it would be wise not to comment on what I thought his chances with Casey were, especially as I had estimated them to be hovering somewhere between the probability of snow in July and the odds of magic actually existing or there being an alternate universe where Derek and I had our personalities reversed.

I took a step closer to him, rationalizing that the closer I got to him, the quicker I would be able to return to Lizzie. He'd visibly deflated at my last pronunciation, but I merely shrugged, moving forward another step. "The way I figure it, I'm the only person in this house who doesn't entirely hate you." I didn't like him, certainly, but I didn't hate him like everyone else, perhaps because he vaguely reminded me of myself or because I found him too pathetic to bother hating. "Honestly, I don't know the first thing about attracting a girl like my sister, so I couldn't help you even if I wanted to. She's getting married anyway, and I'm not about to help you screw that up for her," I continued similarly frankly, figuring he deserved the truth at least. I thought privately that she already had one stepbrother setting out to ruin the ceremony and didn't need me inadvertently helping things along.

Given the look on Truman's face, he wasn't taking this in a remotely positive sense or appreciating my honesty. I inhaled deeply, almost biting my tongue. "But I'm here, and I'm willing to listen... because I figure someone ought to hear you out. You deserve that much, at least," I admitted a bit unwillingly, made uncomfortable by the sudden realization that I felt some sort of affinity with him, something I couldn't even explain. Oh great, now I feel empathy for losers like Truman who cause all their own misery. But, I suppose, better he practice his act on me than my sister, right?

Truman looked me over shrewdly, as if gaging whether or not he could trust me. I tried to convey that he couldn't, since, after all, I was her brother and best friends with perhaps the only person in the world who hated him more than Casey. The truth was that the whole thing was motivated by my natural curiosity more than anything else, since I couldn't entirely understand Truman's motives for waiting so long to reinsert himself into Casey's life and in this particularly difficult and surprising way. "So why did you come back _now_, why like this?"

He grunted, masking a flinch perhaps, and moved over to the couch, sinking into what would soon be his bed. The television was still on faintly, and Truman dimly fixed his eyes on it. I moved to sit in Derek's recliner, watching him twitch in discomfort, and took up roost there to stare him down. He didn't say anything for a long time, and I didn't think he was going to, so I started to get up. I froze when he started to speak, seemingly out of nowhere. "Because I'll never get another chance," he murmured intently. His gaze was dark and unwaveringly fixed on the television, full of carefully bottled emotion. He might as well have said it was his last chance (he was certainly aware of the finality of his situation).

That must be why everything's coming to a head now. It's different once those vows are said, and she starts to build a life with another guy. "I can't let her get married without at least trying... And knowing for sure that I did everything in my power... I can't go through my life wondering what would be different if I'd given it one last shot," Truman declared, turning to look at me slowly. The intensity rose in his voice, and I began to see how invested Truman really was in this sliver of a chance he had. I realized, on a different level, just how desperate an effort it really was.

"Why not earlier?" I asked him immediately, even though the answer came to me before I'd even finished asking the question. He'd been a coward who'd needed to lick his wounds, and he kept putting it off because she kept shooting him down... and time had gotten away from him, and suddenly he'd woken up one morning to find it had all changed. And now he wanted, needed to know if he still had any chance left with Casey, if even the slimmest possibility was available to him. He didn't want to live with regrets, and I couldn't blame him for that.

He hung his head and didn't say a word, thus confirming all my suspicions. I was starting to feel really bad for him, and it was a worrying sensation. Empathizing with the man who'd broken my sister's heart countless times was just bad form. "Truman, forgive me, but you've had a million last chances and blown them all. I get that this is different for you, but what _really_ makes this one time any different from the others? This is desperate, that's what it is... All it's doing is pissing Casey off and leaving her severely emotionally unstable-" I stopped short, realizing that I needed to temper my bluntness as it was starting to verge into unkindness and a lecture.

Something else also came to me, and I smiled wryly. "-Although, getting Casey all hot and bothered and playing with her head did seem to be the only thing you were ever good at..." Truman half-smiled and then frowned rather solidly, uncertain how to take the statement. "But there are other guys who can do that for her," I added a moment later, causing Truman's frown to deepen even further. He grumbled to himself vaguely.

He glared at me and then turned back to the front to stare darkly into space. "I **know** all of that," he said irritably, as if I was patronizing him. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "But what else am I supposed to do? I _know_ I screwed up. I get that I probably ruined things with Casey forever. I made my bed, and I'm lying in it. I _get_ that... but this is all I've got. And it's all I can do," he continued in a tremulous voice, echoes of anger sounding like thunder underneath his carefully placid and thin words. He shrugged stiffly. "I love her. I need her. I never stopped loving her, and..." He looked up at me suddenly, an unguarded but determined look in his eyes. "If there's even the _slightest_ chance that she feels the same way... I'm **not** going to give up. Not until she sees."

His eyes positively burned with the promise of it, but I was considerably more doubtful. It's easy to say that, Truman, when all you did before was give up. I tried not to show my doubt, though, and made some vague facial expression to humor him. The emotion in his voice I suppose tugged at my heartstrings a little, but he'd waited an awfully long time for someone who was supposedly in love with her, and it seemed to me patently selfish of him to assert himself now. "She's happy now, Truman," I told him in what I thought was a firm voice. I thought I sounded sure enough, despite not knowing exactly where her head was at.

Truman gave me a look this time and shook his head once, utterly certain. "She's just pretending. I only saw her once, for a few minutes, and I could tell." What could I say to that, really? I don't like to speculate on emotions, feelings, or people. They're so uncertain and annoyingly variable and nonsensical. Casey's hiding some things, that's for sure, but she did seem happy enough with Noel, deep enough in love to marry him, though I have to say I wondered at her setting such an early date compared to the last time she'd been engaged. She and Truman had never gotten to that point, even, and they'd dated so much longer.

I saw that I wasn't going to convince him of the folly of attempting to interfere now, or help him to realize how much his presence was hurting her, but perhaps I would be able to later or with someone else's help. If he wants to delude himself, to presume he still knows Casey after all these years, who am I to stop him? I opened my mouth to say something, but Truman spoke before I could get a word out, meeting my stare. "Letting her go was the biggest mistake of my life, Edwin, and not a day goes by that I don't regret it. I'm not going to be so stupid again. Casey is the love of my life, and I'm not going to let her slip away to someone who can't appreciate her," Truman told me with a raw, burning sort of honesty. I could certainly see that the pain was real, but at the same time I felt vaguely skeptical.

Sure, I thought it would be a stretch to say that Noel was the love of Casey's life, but in no way did I doubt the strength of Noel's feelings. My sister is a lot for any man to put up with, and Noel dealt with Casey better than anyone she'd ever dated. I was certain that he loved Casey every bit as much as Truman and would be a good husband to her. I snorted, "Really, Truman? Like _you_ always appreciated my sister? Maybe if appreciating includes dating other girls and making out with her cousin at a party you took her to." He shrank a little at that and looked appropriately chastened.

Looking at him, I felt a wave of disgust come over me. "All your wounds are self-inflicted. You ruin things for _yourself_, Truman... and, honestly, no one's gonna think you deserve a second chance, least of all Casey," I pronounced darkly, unable to muster any pity for someone who'd ruined his own life by what... his cowardice, his indecision, his thoughts that he didn't deserve happiness, his unwillingness to try, or whatever other worthless reason he gave?

He shook his head at me, face tightening unpleasantly. "I know that, but I love her. And this is something I have to do. You'll understand someday," Truman stated definitively, almost smiling a bit at the end. He gave me a kind of patronizing look, presumably because I've never been in love or stupid enough to act so foolhardy. I would never presume that Truman and I love the same, though, and I like to think that if I was in love with a girl, I wouldn't pursue her if she was in a loving, seemingly happy relationship. I don't think I'd be selfish enough to want to ruin her happiness unless I was entirely sure that she... what? Felt the same? Would be happier with me? That I would be better for her? It's always been my lot to suffer in silence, and that's my cross to bear.

I shrugged, meeting his gaze evenly. I debated telling him the thought that was lingering in my head, knowing what it would probably do to him or keeping it to myself. Ultimately I decided he could use a heads-up and a warning. It was only fair, after all. "Whatever you say, Truman," I replied placidly. I paused for a long moment so my tone could attain the proper solemnity. "But when my brother wants something to happen, it generally does, whether you want it to or not. The sooner you learn that, the better." It felt vaguely prophetic as I said it, and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd just made a self-fulfilling prophecy; I don't believe in stuff and nonsense like that, but it still scared the ectoplasm out of me. Still, I reminded myself of the conversation Derek and I had had previous to my encounter with Truman; _even Derek Venturi can't get everything he wants._

After that, the conversation came to its natural and necessary conclusion, and I got up and went to the kitchen to make Lizzie's hot cocoa and get myself a glass of milk. I suppose I could've used something harder, though. After a few minutes I went up, grabbing some chocolate crackers I knew Lizzie liked to make up for the fact I'd been so late. I awkwardly bade Truman, who was making up his bed on the sofa with a pillow and crappy blanket, goodnight, and headed back to Liz.

"What took you, Felipe?" she quipped, scowling a little but taking the hot cocoa and animal-shaped crackers nonetheless. I just smiled, really glad I had someone like Lizzie. I was starting to think that I was the most normal male in the house.

Loren ;*

So, next chapter we have a sticky Casey, a mischievous Edwin who can't seem to stay out of trouble, big sister Lizzie, constantly-smirking Derek, some disappointed 'rents, an insufferable Marti, cute Sebastian, and a guest or two just to shake things up a bit. But there's a little more Derek/Casey interaction and some more family interaction, sort of. Which is all part of the build up to Christmas and Christmas Eve. Which is gonna be nuts, yo.

Anyways, if you liked it, I would really appreciate a review. And if you hated it, I'd still appreciate a review. ;)


	22. Compound

Okay, so first important note, this chapter takes place on the day before Christmas Eve. So Christmas Eve Eve, if you will. The chapter that immediately precedes it takes place after dinner. And yes, we're coming closer to that point where everything's gonna start to heat up and hopefully not disappoint me terribly because hopefully I'll do it right.

Secondly, I apologize for the fact that this chapter is a lot of talk and that not much seems to happen in it. Though you do get a real glimpse at how Casey and Derek interact. And a bit more of the family together, which I think is important, even if it's showing how dysfunctional they are. I probably had proper notes for this chapter, but unfortunately you get stuck with these ones. Alas. And hopefully you get a nice, well-deserved helping of humor, 'cause next chapter is about twelve different kinds of tension.

Anyway, I don't own Life with Derek or any of the characters in this chapter, excepting Sebastian (though I only actually own his name and base personality). I just own the plot, yo, and the complexities. 'Cause really, let's face it, who else could make up something this screwed up and twisted? I mean, I'm sure someone could and could maybe do it worse, but still. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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**Compound:** 1. A substance made up of two or more different chemical elements that is able to be broken down further via chemical reactions. 2. A group composed of many distinct individuals united to form a whole or a colony.

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I was standing in the hallway chatting with Liz and waiting for Casey to get out of the bathroom, which was bound to be even more busy than usual with the additional four (and soon to be six) people temporarily living in our home, when I heard a scream. It was, of course, Casey, so Liz and I both shot to attention. As predicted, the door was flung open shortly afterward. Casey emerged, dripping wet and furious, towel clutched haphazardly around her frame. Lizzie tried to say something to her, but Casey didn't hear it. She stalked past us and stomped over to Derek's door, already screaming his name. She did it all without thinking or over-analyzing; blaming Derek was that instinctual. "Der-EK!" she shouted, banging on his door.

Derek was quick to open his door, smirk firmly and proudly set in place, as if her screams were music to his ears. He'd showered earlier, just before Casey, in fact, so we were kind of surprised to see that he was still shirtless and slightly damp. Lizzie was riveted by the sight of my brother's lean, muscled torso, but Casey didn't even notice, naturally. "What a sticky situation you're in, Sis," Derek drawled, glancing at her face and hair, then her bare limbs. His gaze lingered a bit longer than was appropriate or necessary, hungrily following the beads of water trailing down her body. She bristled at the comment and the familiarity, crossing an arm over her chest awkwardly. Some of the water on Casey wasn't really water at all; it was smeared, sticky maple syrup. He practically licked his lips, so pleased he was with the sight, and, a moment later, he reached out for her.

Casey drew back, still furious, and swiped a hand across her hair. "You replaced my shampoo and body wash with maple syrup," she stated in a neutral-seeming tone that did nothing to hide the rage she was currently attempting to suppress. Derek didn't say a word to that, and Casey swiped a hand across her hair, getting it even more sticky and collecting additional maple syrup. Derek stared, transfixed at the sight of her hand glistening in the light, and Casey shoved her hand in his face, palm first, giving him a sticky face full of syrup. She'd also almost gouged his eyes out. "What are you, twelve? We're not in high school anymore. It's time for you to _finally_ grow up, Venturi!"

Derek rolled his eyes at her, taking it surprisingly in stride. That was unprecedented, to say the least, and had both Lizzie and I gaping. I'm sure Lizzie was both mad at her sister and surprised at the nerve she had in dealing with Derek now; it was almost like she had something over him, despite his taunts. He had looked sort of pained when she'd half-pushed/half-slapped his face, probably because it had hurt, but now it seemed as if he didn't hold it against her at all. He merely looked amused at her display of violence. He licked his lips, licking off as much of the syrup as his pink tongue could reach, all the while looking at Casey intently and never removing his eyes from her. "Mmm..." Derek practically moaned. Lizzie was practically drooling, no doubt wishing she was that syrup, and I kind of felt like throwing up looking between the two of them. "...Sweet," he finished.

Casey seethed, looking rather like she wanted to strangle him. Her towel slipped a little bit, and she had to use both sticky hands to hold it up. Derek grinned, eying the new bit of revealed skin with a kind of perverse joy. Then the smile dropped off his face and he shrugged. "Believe me, Case, as much as I _wish _I had something to do with this, I'm sorry to say I don't. You're looking at the wrong guy here..." he told her with a serious face, pausing briefly and allowing a small smile to pass over his face. "Though I can't say I don't appreciate the sight of you covered in syrup." He leaned in towards Casey, pushing off from the doorway. "Are your thighs sticky too?" he asked pointedly, letting his gaze fall deliberately to the area just below the bottom of the towel.

Lizzie was no doubt gaping at that, as, actually, was I. It seemed so blatant an allusion. They'd both forgotten they had an audience, not that either of them had actually seemed to notice our presence. It was always like that with them, though; they always seemed to forget the rest of the world when they were having one of their legendary battles. I always try to tell people about this, but they never seem to believe me, like I'm making this stuff up (but I'm not that good of a storyteller). Naturally, an outraged Casey slapped him. "You are absolutely _disgusting_!"

Derek bore the slap like a badge of honor, just another of his many accolades. He grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows a bit lecherously. "Don't I know it..." He shrugged, running his eyes over her once again. Casey shivered in something that resembled disgust, but not quite. "But you're the one, wet and sticky, standing in my doorway wearing only a towel. You're kind of asking for it," he said matter-of-factly. Casey's jaw dropped in a very familiar way, rendering her mostly incapable of speech due to sheer outrage. He dared to edge a little closer. "Would I lie to you?" he asked in his most charming voice.

Casey scoffed and rolled her eyes, moving away from him again with a look of distaste. Derek frowned and took a step towards her, mock-pouting. He didn't give her the chance to speak. "Oh, Case, I must say I'm disappointed at your lack of faith in me..." Casey threw him a dirty look and opened her mouth to say something, but Derek stopped her with a finger to her lips. Casey froze entirely, and Derek looked like he was enjoying it a little too much (but what else is new?). He moved closer still. "But, seriously, I don't take credit for pranks I didn't pull," he told her quite seriously, licking his lips in a momentary pause before continuing a bit chidingly, "Besides, you _know_ I prefer molasses. Way stickier."

He seemed to press it even further, moving closer to her still, so they were breathing the same air, but Casey snapped out of whatever spell she'd been under, ripping his finger from her lip with force enough to break or dislocate it. She adjusted her towel and backed away, looking a bit unsettled, like some sort of caged animal. "I'm going to tell Mom," Casey hissed, turning around to head back to the bathroom and get herself cleaned up. Admittedly, either Liz or I probably should've taken advantage of the opportunity to get ourselves cleaned up a bit, but we were fascinated by the display going on before our eyes. We hadn't seen either of them like that in a long time, and it was sort of reassuring to see them arguing again... though the sexual allusions were significantly unsettling.

Derek rolled his eyes at her supposed threat. "Ooh, I'm _sooo_ afraid..." he taunted, making some sort of ineffectual fluttering hand gesture. Casey glared at him, almost at the door. Derek's face softened inexplicably. "If it really bothers you that much, Princess, you can use my shampoo," he offered charitably. Casey threw him a suspicious look, and Derek returned it. "I didn't put the maple syrup in your shampoo, Case... but I really have no reason to tamper with my own shampoo. Like I want to jeopardize these locks?" Derek justified, looking a bit put-out at the stony expression on her face.

Casey snorted, eyes narrowing as she addressed him over her shoulder, "Oh, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Well, I recognize a trick when I see one!" Logically, Derek's point made complete and utter sense, so I kind of hid my head in my hands when she said that. I was trying very hard to suppress my own laughter at the absurdity of her statement and her overblown reaction. Casey was always good for a laugh.

Derek chuckled, looking amused by her antics. I noticed then that Casey was looking at him rather intently; apparently she'd just noticed how little he was wearing. Derek caught her staring, of course, and grinned. Casey turned a little red, as she had earlier when he'd made those vaguely obscene comments, and turned away, averting her gaze. "You're completely mental, Basket-Case," Derek said fondly, a small smile playing at his lips even as she whirled around and slammed the bathroom door. Then, taking notice of us, Derek winked (probably at me) and shut his own door, presumably to finish getting dressed. I think Lizzie about died when he winked because she thought he was directing it at her. Vomitrocious.

I was still smiling when Liz turned to me, and so I didn't pay her any mind until she jabbed me in the shoulder with one of those slender daggers she calls a finger. She was eying me suspiciously. "Why do you look so pleased with yourself?" she demanded a bit grumpily, probably because we were both still waiting for the shower, and it always took forever for Casey to wash off sticky substances. It would take her doubly long now, plus she'd probably use Lizzie's shampoo and bodywash, which would be confusing for all parties involved and make Lizzie more annoyed than usual. Undoubtedly by the time Lizzie or I got the shower, assuming Marti didn't manage to jump in and cut in line, as was her way, the hot water would be all used up. You would think, living in Canada, that such a circumstance should never, ever arise, but alas, it does. I don't always take these cold showers for my health, you know; sometimes I just don't have an option.

She was still preening a bit over the wink she thought Derek had directed at her, so that she looked a bit prideful despite her bedhead, the gound in her eyes, and general disheveled state of her clothing, if indeed you could call the tank-top and very nearly obscenely short shorts she was wearing "clothing." I cocked a brow, looking her over. "I could ask you the same question, Liz," I rejoined pointedly.

Liz' eyes narrowed, and a look of vague irritation passed over her features. Her posture indicated that she was probably more irked at having to wait for the bliss of hot water on her aching body than she was at anything I was saying. We were both sore, having fallen asleep on the couch in a tangled heap late, late last night, with cricks in our necks and other limbs. To make matters worse, Marti had barged in and woken us, screaming at the top of her lungs, kind of like a banshee version of the Little Drummer Boy. This, naturally, had startled the both of us enough so that we fell off the couch. I hit my head and arm on the coffee table, and Lizzie was crushed under my weight and turned upside-down. It was a painful awakening, to say the least. "Oh, don't give me that accusing tone. You look like the cat who ate the canary," she retorted, swiping the hair out of her eyes with a finesse she didn't possess, having no fine motor skills so soon after awakening and on such little sleep.

I said nothing but kept grinning despite myself, despite the warning she'd more or less given me. She gave me a look like she wanted to punch the smile right off my face, the kind of look she gets when she's really tired and more than a little bit loopy, the stop-bothering-me-I-hate-the-world-and-want-to-be-in-my-bed-right-now look that is more frequently spotted on Sebastian's visage. I'm sure I would've mirrored her look if I wasn't still so amused (and, unfortunately, used to the lack of sleep).

She stared at me for a good long moment, mostly out of a lack of anything better to do, and, after a while, understanding dawned on her features. She'd apparently divined something from the look on my face; Lizzie's always been better at reading people than I am. She has this totally unnerving way of looking through a person and scraping and tunneling through them to find out their deepest darkest secrets. "Oh my god! That was _you_? That's why you're smiling?" Liz gaped. I didn't say a word, so Liz gasped and punched me hard in the arm. "How could you **do** something like that?" she hissed, outraged, before suddenly whirling around and punching me again.

It hurt a lot, and now I was rubbing both arms. One of which was sure to be that unpleasant kind of internal bruise that you can feel but not see. I shrugged half-heartedly, backing away a bit. "I was welcoming Casey back home?" I offered with a faint smile, attempting to shy away further. I didn't see a point in denying it. Lizzie always sees through me when I lie anyway, so it would've been pointless to lie. Besides, she'll realize soon enough that she likes me more, despite their sisterly bond, and she won't tell Casey.

"_Seriously_, Edwin!" Lizzie interjected, glowering at me. She seemed at a loss for words for a moment, wringing her hands in an attempt to get some of the frustration out. Then she smacked me again in the arm with enough force to almost knock me over. "She's your **sister**!" she cried as if somehow betrayed by my treatment of her other best friend, as if I was supposed to be ashamed by what I'd done. I just shrugged. After all, Marti was my sister too, as was Lizzie, and hadn't I done worse to both of them? The only reason I never pranked Casey or severely bothered her was because Derek always made it clear that she was his to mess with... his and his alone. Besides, he was far better at it than I could've ever been.

"Yeah, I know..." I muttered with a bit of a pout, pretending like I was a bit more apologetic or something. I'm hardly about to be apologetic for a prank, though, especially one done under those circumstances. Casey's been a bit insufferable to everyone; she had it coming. She needs to lighten up... and it was an honest experiment, and no harm was done to either party! "It was an _experiment_, okay? To see if they'd still react the same way," I blurted out. Liz gave me a skeptical look. I didn't tell her I did it because Derek wouldn't anymore. I also didn't tell her it was reassuring to find out that they kind of did... and disturbing at the way that bickering had changed, become more perverted over time.

Lizzie frowned at me. "We don't experiment on family members, Edwin," she said to me patiently, as if she were explaining this to a naughty, misbehaving child rather than an adult man. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the reproach, especially since a similar chiding from Nora had never stopped the two of us when we were younger.

Truthfully, it livened things back up again. For a few moments there, it felt like things were back to normal before everything shifted back and off to the side. "Like you didn't enjoy it." Liz outright scowled at me, recognizing my statement for what it was, a reference to her unashamed staring at our eldest brother. She turned away from me primly. Marti came up then at that very moment, bright-eyed and colorfully attired, and said that Nora needed me downstairs, so I should go get dressed. Apparently none of the other men currently residing in our house were available to help Nora get whatever heavy, unwieldy thing it was that she needed, even though Derek was awake and my father had the day off work.

The next few hours passed in a tiring blur of errands and me straining to lift heavy things. I think I might've gotten out of it if Sergei wasn't off doing something; the guy was built like a bear. Marti was off with some friends, and Casey was busy multitasking at home, setting up for dinner and looking through bridal magazines and so forth. She was no longer fuming but had decreed that she wasn't speaking to Derek, who had volunteered to watch Sebastian while Dad went out for some (predictably) last-minute Christmas shopping. Truman and Vicky were wisely absent, off visiting her parents at Derek's place. Liz had had a morning hockey practice, followed by a brief sushi lunch with the girls and another one of her advanced martial arts classes.

When I came home, Lizzie was convalescing on the couch, holding an ice pack to her forehead and pretending to be interested in the different pictures Casey was showing her from bridal magazines. Casey was alternating between flower and table centerpiece designs and bridesmaid dresses and chattering at a mile a minute. Derek was loudly playing video games with Sebastian in his recliner, and every now and then Casey would shoot an irritated glance in his direction. Derek would only smirk in response and raise a brow, causing Casey to huff and go back to her clippings.

I maneuvered around the TV, lest both of my brothers start yelling at me, and plopped down next to Lizzie, looking her over with worried eyes. She looked a bit miserable but like she was trying to tough it out for whatever reason. She always thinks she has to be so strong for everyone else. "What happened?" I mouthed.

Casey's lips were a thin, angry line, and she looked up from the magazines with sharp eyes. She didn't exactly approve of Lizzie's more dangerous pursuits, to say the least, which is why Lizzie usually didn't tell her when she was injured. Which was, of course, why Lizzie was so still and stiff, holding herself in a strange way, a bit gingerly, and trying to keep up a good face. "She was hit in the head with a puck and pushed down in hockey practice today by that horrible Tanya girl," Casey spat accusingly, alternating convicting looks between myself and Lizzie. She spat Tanya's name with an emotion that came very close to hatred.

She sniffed, frowning at Liz, who tried to shrink away a bit, obviously feeling guilty. Casey's very protective of all of us, and I realized, as did Lizzie, that she only got like this because she was so worried about Lizzie and all the bad things that could happen to her. Of course, Lizzie was a pro at all the sports she played, knew what she was doing, and rarely got severely injured, but Casey didn't choose to see it that way. I raised a brow, wondering why Tanya had attacked Lizzie. I sensed it was a bit more than that too, given the tenseness in Lizzie's shoulders and her general stiffness, but I figured it would be better to ask her when Casey wasn't around.

"Aspirin?" I asked, already heading for the kitchen. Liz smiled weakly, and I came back with two Advil and a glass of water, which I handed to Lizzie, who thanked me with the barest hint of a half-smile. I plopped down next to her on the couch once again, carefully adjusting my position so as not to further aggravate any injuries Liz had suffered. Lizzie scooted away from Casey a little and leaned into me ever so slightly, trying to get more comfortable. "So what really happened?" I whispered into Lizzie's ear.

She shuddered, gone a bit ticklish, and then frowned, probably at the involuntary motion. I noticed the smug, eyebrow-waggling look Derek was shooting in my direction and ignored it pointedly. Liz let out a breath and eased back into me. Though she'd showered and patched herself up a little, she still looked exhausted from her earlier exertion. "It was nothing, really. It was a rough practice, and I guess my head wasn't exactly in it... what with everything that's been going on," she murmured back a bit quickly, lest I think she was getting distracted because of Derek.

I gave her a look, not buying it, and Lizzie exhaled shallowly. Liz looked away from me, cheeks faintly pink. I wondered what she had been thinking about. Then she eyed Casey, who was chattering to herself now and entirely oblivious to her surroundings, mumbling something about lace and feathers. Liz forced a rather grim-looking smile. "It's my side... I think I've got some bruised ribs," she confessed, rubbing her side. Her back felt so tensed up that I suspected the push to the ice had affected her more than she'd acknowledged. I frowned and hesitantly reached out to test her injuries.

She bit her lip hard when I applied even the slightest pressure to her flesh. "I was sparring with Nikolai today, and I wasn't... I didn't block him in time, so I took it on the side. It was a glancing blow," she explained softly so that Casey wouldn't hear. I felt like there was something off about her description, something important she was leaving out, but I couldn't figure out what it was. I highly doubted a glancing blow would bruise bone, and I suppose my expression screamed it. Liz made a face at me. It occurred to me then that ordinary things, such as laying down, sleeping, turning, and breathing must be very painful for her. "Trust me, I was _lucky _to get out of it with a bruise!" Liz hissed, "Niko's a level-five black belt! He was going easy on me!"

Somehow, I rather doubted that, especially since I'd met Nikolai, one of her fellow instructors. He was an intimidating guy, all muscle and no sympathy, with a perpetual five o'clock shadow and a sharpness to his features that would make knives weep in envy. He'd been in the army, elite forces, of course, had trained _soldiers_. Something about him seemed off, and he kind of creeped me out because it was disturbingly easy to picture him as a slasher in a horror film. I decided to give her a back massage later (when we were alone) because Derek would be shooting me leering glances Lizzie might mistake for romantic interest, and Casey would almost certainly say something. After that, we started talking about what we were going to do after family dinner (Liz wanted to play a game; I wanted her to help me wrap presents), and Nora and Dad entered the room, fresh from hiding Christmas presents, probably somewhere under their bed.

Casey smiled at them, asking Nora if she wanted some help in the kitchen later. A grateful Nora nodded, asking Casey to make some of her famous casserole. Derek perked up at that, since he loves her casserole. The potato chips on top are his favorite part. At that moment, seeming to register my presence, Casey turned to me, smiling faintly. The look made me immediately wary. "So, Edwin," she began brightly, "Paul tells me you've been seeing him lately... and that it's been nice getting to know you. I hope you're finding Paul's counsel as helpful as I did back when I was your age." I recognized her joy as sincere and all that, but it brought me undue attention. I barely refrained from saying that I don't think anyone has ever found Paul's counsel as helpful and _necessary_ as Casey did, even to this day, since Paul mentioning that had inevitably meant she'd spoken to him recently.

Liz' eyes widened. I hadn't told her about my mandatory meetings with Paul, or why I had to have them in the first place. She knew, of course, about the fight, but other than a brief comment that went something along the lines of, "I heard you punched Brent. Good for you, Ed. You've always hated him, and he's a douche and a half," she hadn't said anything else about it. Nora and Dad gave me curious glances as well, and Derek raised a brow. "Bro, what're you seeing Dr. Creepy for? Do you have any unresolved psychological issues we need to know about? Are you mentally instable like Crazy over there?" he interjected a bit mockingly.

Casey whirled around to glower at him. "His name is Greebie, not Creepy," she corrected primly. "And, as I recall, Brother, even _you_ have visited Paul and found him helpful on occasion," she continued pointedly. Derek made a face at her. Then Casey rolled her eyes and turned back to me, smiling reassuringly. "There's nothing wrong with getting a little advice from a concerned mental health professional from time to time." Derek snorted loudly, probably on the verge of making a comment about her mental health, and Casey clenched her jaw but continued talking to me, cutting him off before he could even get started. "It can be very helpful and soothing to talk to someone else about your problems."

"And you have plenty of problems, don't you, Crazy?" Derek quipped, interrupting her. She barely restrained herself from turning around to shoot him a glare. Her jaw seemed to get tighter, almost like she was grinding her teeth. I supposed she decided she wasn't going to gratify his insult with the attention he was undoubtedly seeking. She had never been very good at ignoring Derek before, and with good reason, given that my brother prided himself on being unavoidable.

Casey put her hand on my shoulder affectionately, a placid expression spreading across her face. "And I think going to Paul shows a lot of emotional maturity on your part... unlike some people who have yet to progress beyond puberty," she continued warmly, shooting Derek a pointed look, all but saying he was still a thirteen-year-old-boy mentally. Derek scowled at her, but Casey had already turned back to me, squeezing my shoulder and releasing me to lean back into the couch.

I gave her a strained smile. "Helpful wouldn't be the word I'd use... More like frustrating," I said, leaning back into the pillows. Casey's contented smile fell, and she looked confused. She, of all people, should understand how frustrating meeting with Paul can be. "But it's not like I have a choice anyway." Casey gave me a quizzical look, and I winced, realizing I'd said too much. I suppose Paul didn't tell her why I was seeing him. Crap, now I'm going to have to explain.

Lizzie's brow furrowed, and then a look of sudden understanding passed over her face. I almost cringed in anticipation of what she was likely to say. "Wait, is it because you punched Brent?" she blurted unthinkingly. I didn't cringe when she actually said it, lest I look guilty, but I felt like it. Nora's and Casey's eyes went wide, and I could feel my dad start to rumble. Derek's eyes widened in surprise, but he gave me an appraising look, like he'd underestimated me. My lack of an answer and probably something in my features was more than enough to satisfy Lizzie's question.

"You got in a **fight**?" Dad very nearly shouted. I glanced at him, seeing that he was red in the face and probably attempting to hold in his emotions. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, knowing it would only make things worse. I shrugged dismissively. One punch is hardly a fight, but I'm atoning for my crime, even though the bastard has had it coming for what, the five years I've known him? "Why are we _just_ hearing about this now?" I turned my head away from him, ignoring him pointedly. I suppose because Lassie's scatterbrained secretary forgot to call you, Dad? Or perhaps it's because you still don't understand our new answering machine and keep pressing the delete button instead of the playback button.

Nora looked horror-struck. "You punched someone, Edwin?" she asked disbelievingly, staring at me with wide Bambi eyes, as if she didn't know who she was looking at. I nodded shortly, not in the mood to discuss it. The less I said here the better. Casey was frowning and threw me a disapproving look, probably upon seeing how upset our parents both looked. "Why would you do something like that?" Nora asked in a tone that was trying to be patient but came out sounding more disappointed than anything. She asked as if she couldn't understand at all why I would ever punch someone, and she was just standing there, staring at me as if she was looking for homicidal urges in my face and eyes.

I bit my lip, feeling the tiniest bit bad about it for the first time. I didn't have to look at Derek to know he was wearing an approving look that I was amazed no one had scolded him for, probably because his look also seemed partly disapproving. I tried to be nonchalant, even though that would probably anger Dad more. Realistically speaking, though, what were my father and Nora really going to do?

It's Christmas Break, so they're too busy with everyone else to supervise me properly. Proper supervision also requires a level of personal attention that I'm not sure they have ever bestowed on me, or that, indeed, I have ever required or merited. I'm not particularly attached to my phone or the TV, and I can say I need my computer for my work. Besides, I share the car with Lizzie, and I think Christmas parties are stupid... so what can they really take away from me? Grounding is a hollow threat at best.

"Because he was saying derogatory things about my sister, and I wasn't about to let that asswipe get away with it," I said simply, knowing Nora would probably get on me for swearing in front of C in approximately 0.2 seconds. I avoided Lizzie and Casey's gaze, not wanting to get tricked into a staring contest and inadvertently reveal something more about the conversation. Someone, probably Derek, coughed, none-too-subtly hiding a snicker, and I shot him a faintly amused glance. I'd forgotten how funny the whole situation actually was, me punching Brent and him going down like a lead pipe. I coughed deeply to hide a snicker of my own, figuring I'd be scolded for mocking the severity of my situation (ha!) with wholly inappropriate laughter.

"Edwin! Language!" Nora scolded, gasping. She stared at me for a moment, not quite knowing what to say, as if she still couldn't believe I'd punched someone.

I muttered a completely insincere apology, but before I could get anything else out, like the further explanation Nora was undoubtedly expecting, Sebastian piped up cheerfully, "What's a asswipe?" Nora cringed, shooting me a glare and then turning her unamused gaze on my father. My dad barely managed to stifle a chuckle, plastering a worried and mildly irritated look onto his face. Casey looked scandalized, and Lizzie was attempting rather unsuccessfully to stifle laughter. Derek, on the other hand, made no effort to silence the guffaw that rose up in him and started laughing loudly, shaking with the force of it. C frowned, cocking his head in confusion.

Nora frowned and came over to the recliner, looking down at Sebastian. She was staring pointedly at Derek, silently willing him to stop laughing. It didn't work, especially given what Sebastian said next. "Mommy, is that Tomb Man a asswipe?" he asked loudly. Nora frowned at him, having apparently no idea to whom he was referring. Derek's hysterical laughter continued. Casey's lips turned down at the corners.

C pouted faintly, rolling his eyes. "Tomb Man. You know, the skeleton man who came here and made CayCay all sad," he explained solemnly, little lips forming into the beginnings of a frown. From the way he spoke, you would think Truman was some sort of ghoul or beast that haunted his nightmares. Casey paled, realizing now who he was talking about. An angry but mildly amused expression swept over her face. There were traces of shame in the expression, and it was clear C's mention of her first fiancé had distracted her from her work. "He's a asswipe, right?" C asked hopefully, nodding his head. A still-laughing Derek wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and nodded exaggeratedly before either Nora or Casey could say anything, pressing a kiss to Sebastian's forehead fondly, saying it was exactly that. C looked proud that he'd gotten it right.

I snorted, unable to repress a smile. Nora shot me an unamused look, muttering something about how I shouldn't encourage him or that I should teach my little brother words like that. I just shrugged. Casey's annoyance at the mention of her ex, no matter how obliquely, had faded, giving way to amusement. Our parents looked at me, evidently expecting some sort of further explanation I had no desire to give when all of a sudden, the doorbell rang. At first, we merely exchanged glances, too lazy or busy or tired to get up. The ringing became more insistent buzzing, rather resembling that of a gnat or mosquito, and pretty soon a hard, loud knocking sound accompanied the ringing.

Nora exhaled deeply, wearily, and went to answer the door, rolling her eyes at all of us. I don't think she would've gone to answer it if there was the faintest chance that the knocking would stop. We were expecting both Grandma Felicia and Great Aunt Madge tonight anyway. We were all fairly surprised when Nora opened the door to reveal a familiar face, reddened from the cold and mildly tarted up. "Hello, Tanya. Nice to see you," Nora said calmly, forcing a smile, obviously not thrilled at her presence, especially after what had happened to Lizzie at hockey practice. Tanya, ever impatient and ever tactless, ignored Nora's greetings and ducked past her, coming into our house. She shook the snow off of herself like a wet dog (though I would never compare Tanya to a dog) and then started coming towards us.

Derek raised a brow, giving her an appraising look that Tanya failed to notice. I rolled my eyes at him, able to read his thoughts on his face and unimpressed. Unfortunately, Lizzie also noticed his interest, and she scowled openly. She pressed the ice-pack to her head a bit harder than she needed, gritting her teeth. "What are you doing here?" she barked before Tanya could say anything, leaning back into me more. Tanya's eyes flashed a little, and a saw a sliver of pleasure creep over Lizzie's face in response. Who knew? Tanya apparently still had some sort of feelings for me. I felt a little bad for her, for the way that Lizzie was using me, but then I remembered the lie I'd told Tanya to get out of being somehow forced into dating her, and I felt guilty.

Tanya's eyes lit up with a flash of mania. "Don't you know?" For the first time, I noticed that she was carrying a bag. Before I had time to debate its contents, however, Tanya was moving closer so that she was directly in front of us. "I've come to give you the good news!" she said with a simpering smile that was wholly unlike her. I raised a brow, wondering if she had specific news in particular or was making some sort of bizarre Christmas visit. Gabriel, she most certainly is not.

Then she looked at me for one long, intensely awkward moment, giving me a look that reminded me fully of the fact that she knew what I was like in bed (and vice-versa), mad grin widening. Naturally, this look filled me with horror and rightfully so. A wave of disgust came over me slowly, flooding my mind with unwanted images that played back behind my eyes like some sort of dizzy, awful film reel. Then with the sharpness of a spade, her gaze shifted back to Lizzie. "You're going to be an aunt, McDonald!" she exclaimed brightly, eyes gleaming with an unnatural sheen—the sheen of insanity.

I just about fainted when she said that, realizing what the look that had made my skin crawl meant. I felt very lightheaded all of a sudden, practically dizzy with the possibility of what she'd intimated (and in front of _Lizzie_, no less!). Had I been standing, I might have fallen over in a heap of buckled knees and clumsy, leaden limbs. "**What**?" Lizzie shrieked, alternating quick, panicked glances between the two of us. I caught one of her glances, which seemed to me to be incredibly accusing. At that moment, I was very conscious of the fact that my entire family, excepting my poor excuse for a mother (and Marti), was in that very room, so I needed to somehow salvage this moment and buy myself some time. Mom and Dad were already pissed at me enough for getting into a fight and not telling them; I didn't need to add impregnating Lizzie's worst enemy to their list of grievances.

Trying to disguise how shallow my breathing really was and forcing myself to be calm, I gasped loudly, melodramatically, drawing even more attention to myself. "What? Casey's pregnant?" I interjected in a breathless tone of shock vaguely akin to Lizzie's, quickly moving to cover Tanya's mouth with my hand (and didn't _she_ enjoy that?). After all, Tanya hadn't said who was making Lizzie an aunt after all, and I figured it was at least somewhat possible, given the rather short engagement and the fact of Casey and Noel's relationship. Plus, I knew that dragging Casey into it, as nonsensical as it might seem to someone who contemplates the statement, would immediately take some of the attention off of myself. I didn't dare look at our parents, afraid they'd see something on my face, some kind of silent confirmation that none of us were really ready for.

Casey shot up like a rocket, electric with offense. The magazines slid off of her lap, falling into a glossy heap of paper-cut-inducing carpet at her feet. Had Noel been there, she would've no doubt gone to him, taking his hand for support. Noel would've tried to placate her, giving her a hug or perhaps making a statement and calming the beast that was emotional, wedding-crazed Casey. Unfortunately, however, Noel was not there to moderate and buffer her reaction, so we got Casey all lit up like a Christmas tree with fury. "For the last time, _no_, I am **not** pregnant!" she shouted. She huffed out a breath, looking faintly exasperated, as if perhaps this issue had come up a lot before (indeed, I remembered Derek making some sort of similar comment when she and Truman were engaged, something along the lines of... "what's the rush, Case? It's not like you're up the stick... or is it?").

"I am marrying Noel because I _love _him..." she began, glancing at each and every one of us with a very determined look. She then whirled around to face Derek, indignant, color rising in her cheeks, index finger outstretched. Derek looked mildly amused by the display, but given the nature of his stare, I suspected he was more amused by the way her skirt flared up around her when she turned. "-**Not** because he knocked me up!" Casey snapped, glowering at Derek. He shrugged coolly, watching her intently, not going to admit or deny a thing so that Casey would undoubtedly obsess over this lack of a reaction or acknowledgment either way. Then Derek let his eyes drop, pointedly, to her stomach, as if he were looking for something.

After getting momentarily swept up in this drama, I was brought back to my very awkward position by the pursing of lips against my hand, followed shortly by a scrape of teeth and a hot, wet tongue that made me jerk my hand away in disgust. Tanya merely grinned, probably amused at my successful attempt to deflect the dynamite she'd just thrown my way. I glanced over at Lizzie, only to see that she was white as the calcium carbonate supplements Nora made her take sometimes. It's surprising, really, that I was able to remain so calm with my future hanging up in the air like that, but I suppose it was mostly because I knew the two of them would, like certain other people in my life, say and use anything they could to hurt one another. "Oh, Lizzie-Wizzy, grow a sense of humor," Tanya proclaimed almost fondly, rolling her eyes. "It was a joke."

She met my gaze levelly for a moment, ostensibly to prove that she wasn't lying about it being a joke (or so I hoped). Nonetheless, it was very unlike Tanya to make such a joke. She usually didn't employ any sort of subterfuge, preferring to stick with brutal truths, tactlessness, and blunt, unflattering statements said to one's face. Liz crossed an arm over her chest uncomfortably, wincing as she did it. "Not a very funny one, Tanya. Did you see how pale Edwin was?" she replied soberly, hitting my chest softly with the back of her hand. My face felt maybe a quarter as hot as the surface temperature of Mercury (and hopefully it wasn't the same color as Mars!).

Tanya's ice-blue eyes twinkled in a way that was more or less mischievous, a look I'd never before seen on her face. She'd always seemed to take herself far too seriously. "Yeah, I did. That was almost as funny as your reaction, you know," she deadpanned. She paused for a moment, deliberately, before turning to me and patting me on the shoulder patronizingly. I suppose all the blood hadn't quite come back to my face yet. "Don't worry, Eddie. You're kid-free," she said a bit sardonically, practically rolling her eyes.

I thought to myself that Mom and Dad were learning all kinds of things about me today (and, that, given the way things were currently going, they were soon to learn more things I didn't want them to know). I scowled at Tanya, trying to will my heart-rate to something resembling a resting rate and not the rate of someone who'd been doing heavy exercise. It hadn't entirely worked, but at least it was gratifying to know that I wasn't about to become a father at eighteen, much less by someone like Tanya. That meant that my life would be ruined in some other way, which was a bit of a relief.

Liz rolled her eyes, cutting to the point. "Why are you really here?" she asked a bit snottily. I felt rather than saw Nora's vaguely annoyed look, no doubt intended to scold Lizzie for having an attitude with the guest, even though I don't see why they should expect Lizzie to be cordial and respectful with the girl who is ostensibly her worst enemy.

Tanya made a face, annoyance flickering on her features. "It's not obvious?" she muttered. She sighed, narrowly managing to avoid rolling her eyes at Liz. She puffed herself up a bit, rising to her full height and self-importance. Naturally, of course, because being team captain was the one thing she had over Lizzie (unless having larger breasts counts for something). "As team captain, Coach sent me here to check on you and see that you're all right..." She mumbled something unintelligible after that which neither of us understood.

Liz frowned, trying her best to lean forward so she could hear her better. However, maybe Lizzie did hear it and was just asking Tanya to mess with her. Knowing both women and their particular relationship, I would not put it past her. "Excuse me, what? Sorry, I didn't hear that."

Tanya's face became a full-on grimace. The look she gave Lizzie suggested that she'd smelled something unpleasant, like a latrine. She just about bared her teeth at Liz before exhaling sharply through her nose and clearing her throat. Liz gave her an expectant look that rather recalled a queen condescending to allow a subject to speak to her. I could sense the narrowly-kept tinge of amusement in her, though, just waiting to come out. "A-apologize," Tanya spat out, half-stuttering. It was mildly comical to see someone of Tanya's notoriously cool, not-easily-ruffled demeanor so obviously uncomfortable.

The staid, utterly sober pokerface was cracking before our very eyes. Lizzie was silent, probably stunned as her wide eyes suggested. Tanya faltered for a moment, evidently expecting Lizzie to have something to say to this. She didn't, so Tanya exhaled deeply, through her teeth this time, before continuing unwillingly. "This is me a-a-that a-word, okay?" she said shortly, unable to even say the word "apologize." It occurred to me that this was, perhaps, the only time in her life that Tanya had ever apologized to someone. An adult, probably their coach, had doubtlessly impelled her to do it, probably with some sort of bribe or threat (probably a threat, given Tanya's volatile temperament and the concession of pride that this apology no doubt was).

She exhaled again, almost looking a bit nervous, kind of fidgety, really. "I don't normally do this stuff... But I'm s-s-so-rry for accidentally knocking you down and hitting you in the head with a puck," she repeated dutifully, as if she had practiced it several times. She still had to force out the "sorry," despite all her practice. That being said, she didn't sound sorry or look even remotely contrite. From the way she said it, all quickly, rushed, as if she thought it would be easier the quicker she said it, it was clear that it was forced, and, even, that she took a bit of pride in the gesture (the violence). Her shoulders slumped in relief after finally saying it, and she stared at Lizzie pointedly, waiting for her to accept so she could move on.

Liz said nothing for several moments and then turned to me. I knew how she was going to play it from the small grin forming on her lips. She was never going to make things easy for Tanya. "Did that _sound_ like an apology to you, Ed?" she asked. I didn't exactly want to play along, since Tanya could very well maim me, but I figured Lizzie was the bigger threat anyway, so I shook my head like she wanted. I saw Tanya outright scowl, completely dropping the faux-polite act, out of the corner of my eye.

Tanya's lip curled, and irritation flashed in her eyes, which were so blue it hurt to look at them. Staring at them too long was sort of like staring at a star sapphire under light or a newborn star, sharp, hard, and with a kind of burning intensity. "I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like you're really hurt," she pronounced quickly, rolling her eyes dismissively. Liz moved towards her, probably in an attempt to cause some sort of injury to her and winced, probably moving her sore ribs the wrong way. "We've both done worse to each other and other players and survived. All that happened was you got a lump on your already too big head," Tanya replied, utterly nonplussed.

To be fair, Tanya was right. Things were known to get particularly rough between them. Tanya played dirty, as everyone knew, and enjoyed doing things like tripping people up or "accidentally" body-checking people. As for Liz, well, she's a black belt, and she gives as good as she gets. I've never known her to turn her back on a fight when it's offered to her. In fact, a lot of the episodes between them happened to Tanya, since Lizzie wasn't afraid to challenge her and could be as aggressive if not more aggressive than my brother and his friends on the ice. Liz is a bit more dangerous, too, of course. Tanya then proceeded to take something out of her bag, some sort of box I think, and thrust it at her. "And here, my mom said this'll help." Lizzie took the package warily and peered at it. I glanced over her shoulder; it was some sort of herbal home remedy.

Liz dropped the box in her lap with a measure of distaste, glaring up at Tanya. "Accident, my ass," she muttered through clenched teeth. I could feel her getting angry but was afraid to try calming her down somehow, given the state of her ribs. I was rather surprised Nora didn't scold her for swearing, but perhaps she didn't hear. The rest of the family was, I imagine, merely listening awkwardly to this conversation, though Derek and C were making an admirable effort to play their video game as if nothing was happening.

Tanya placed a hand on her hip, leaning forward. "It's not my fault _you_ were distracted, okay?" she retorted, annoyed. Anya would later tell me that her injuring Lizzie's head was sort of an accident. Lizzie really wasn't paying attention, and Tanya had been trying to get the puck and, you know, just knock Liz down, rather than almost knock her out. Not that Tanya would ever say that, though.

Amusingly, Lizzie pinked at that statement. She'd probably been thinking of my brother then. I fought the urge to roll my eyes and just gave her a curious look. Tanya, who was still annoyed, rolled her eyes at this and chucked the bag she was holding at Lizzie, who caught it but winced as it partially impacted her stomach. "And, oh, here's your present, bitch," Tanya announced, "I got your name in that stupid Secret Santa thing, and Anya made me get you something."

Nora tutted, and Tanya's attention flitted to her for a moment. She managed a fairly strained smile, which Nora returned a bit warily, given that Tanya had just called her daughter a bitch. Casey scowled and looked like she was about to say something mean, telling Tanya to back off her sister, which Lizzie so didn't need, until Tanya started talking again. "There's also a fruitcake in there. From my mom. She congratulates you and wishes you the best Christmas," Tanya said a bit awkwardly, almost shyly. It's always difficult to know just how to act around the woman who has mothered both your worst enemy and the boy you are not-so-secretly-in-love-with. Wow, Tanya really sounds like a cliché when I put her that way.

Our mother gave Tanya that familiar strained smile, thanking her and her mother and wishing her entire family a Merry Christmas. She came over and carefully extracted the tin of fruitcake from the bag in Lizzie's lap and hurried off to the kitchen. Nora wasn't exactly thrilled to receive another fruitcake, since Great Aunt Madge had already sent her three (and had the audacity to insist each time that it had gotten lost in the mail, so she'd felt obligated to send another). Nora's crafty plan for disposing of all of these fruitcakes was Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner, foisting them onto our (unwanted) relatives. I heard her muttering under her breath, "Damn, now I have to make them Christmas cookies."

I hid my smile behind my hand. "How kind of you," Liz rejoined sarcastically, rifling through the bag to find the promised present. It was something small, fairly cheap, and most likely useless: the standard female gift of scent and bathing supplies, the kind of gift you buy because it comes in a package and you simply don't know what else to get.

She stared Lizzie down. "I'm being nicer than you deserve, McDonald," she countered bluntly. She paused for a moment, staring into space as if she wanted to say something but didn't know how to phrase it. She sighed. "And look, we're having this little thing at my house, like a holiday party or something. The whole team's gonna be there, and Anya wants to see your lousy face there. Plus it'd be really suspicious if you didn't show up," she began, pausing for a moment. "Frankly, I really don't care if you show, but other people do, so here I am, inviting you... So it's next week, at seven... Anya will text you the details," Tanya continued reluctantly, looking vaguely nauseous. A pained look passed over her face.

Liz raised a brow, surprised and rather impressed at the civility Tanya had managed. She wasn't the only one, I assure you. Then she allowed herself a slow, self-satisfied smile as she met Tanya's gaze levelly. "I'll see you there, Tanya," she pronounced crisply. Tanya couldn't stop her face from morphing into a grimace, to both of our amusement.

Then, for the first time since the little joke she'd played on me upon arriving, Tanya's gaze slid back to mine, hard and daring, like she was sizing me up. I noticed the way her eyes flicked over the position Lizzie and I currently found ourselves in, as if cataloging it for later interpretation. "You tell her yet, Eddie?" she drawled in a voice as sharp and hard as diamonds. I didn't say a word, couldn't look at Lizzie to see the question in her eyes (although, really, Liz knew what I'd had to tell Tanya, so she should've understood). Tanya read the answer in my body language, stiff and still. Her lip curled in something akin to disgust or, perhaps, pity. "You're a coward," she spat, eyes connecting directly with mine. I flinched. Then she turned on her heel and left the house with some sort of dismissive half-hearted wave.

Liz sensed that I was a bit out of sorts and changed the subject nervously, muttering sarcastically how seeing Tanya was always a pleasure. However, I should've known the awkward silence that had fallen over all of us in the wake of Tanya's departure was only a fluke, a brief moment of blissful silence and no questions that wasn't meant to last. Derek broke it, as always, practically gasping, "You told _her_, Lizzie's worst enemy?"

If it was even possible, I stiffened even more, as if I'd been left in starch overnight. Lizzie started faintly; out of the corner of my eye, I saw her mouth start to open, question already forming on her lips. A question I didn't want to answer in front of the entire family (sans Marti), no doubt. I didn't need to look at Derek to know he was gaping at me in disbelief. I glanced at him and managed an affected shrug. "Didn't have a choice. Had to get away somehow. You know how that is," I told him in the most nonchalant voice I could muster. It was said with him in mind, of course.

I hated myself for how sleazy it sounded as I was saying it, but what could I say? The worst part was, actually, that I'd told him the truth. Derek gaped at me, even more disbelieving, giving me a look that was almost shaming. Liz was quicker with her response. Even though I'd told her as much, she still smacked me hard on the arm. I turned to face Casey, trying to dodge a potential further onslaught from Lizzie, to see the nonplussed and vaguely disgusted look on her face. It was a sort of sad look, really, as if she were disappointed in me. It lasted for one interminable minute before she turned to glower at Derek for encouraging such morals in his younger brother.

At this point, I was feeling pretty bad and kind of wanted to be sucked into the floor, to fade into my surroundings and disappear completely. My parents' own inquiries would, no doubt, be even worse. So I extracted myself from Lizzie's grip carefully and damn near bolted for my bedroom. I needed to shower anyway, having not been allowed the possibility earlier. When I returned to my room after a _very_ satisfying and hot shower, Lizzie was lying face-first on my bed. She lifted her head up to look at me, letting out a weak groan, before letting it drop gently back onto my comforter. She muttered something into my bedding that I couldn't make out.

I asked her to repeat herself, and Lizzie pulled her head back up with a grimace. I frowned at the very visible bump on her head, courtesy of Tanya. "Massage?" she requested wearily. It sounded as if the aspirin was wearing off. Lizzie usually didn't take pain medication, believing in "toughening herself up" and not relying on artificial solutions. I nodded, and Liz let out a relieved sigh as she flopped back onto my bed, wincing slightly. Her hands started to tug at her shirt, bunching up the fabric and attempting to pull it up, but she stopped halfway, in too much pain to straight her bruised muscles further by pulling it over her head. Leaning on an elbow, trying not to turn too much, Lizzie threw me a pleading look. "Please, Ed?"

I was, naturally, powerless to refuse her, so I wound up carefully extracting one arm and then another from her shirt, giving her the proper support, and pulling it over her head. As I did it, I was rather struck by the strange feeling of deja vu, remembering how it wasn't the first time I'd taken her shirt off. I'd never gone that slow before, though. Liz' hands groped behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. I placed my hand on hers, stilling her fingers. A shirtless massage was one thing, but a braless massage was something else entirely, something rather a lot like second base.

Liz made a face at me over her shoulder. "What? It's not like I can get a good massage with this thing on. It's so damned uncomfortable," Liz said snappily, pushing my fingers aside and undoing the thing with a few flicks of her fingers. She tossed the bra to the ground, and I tried to keep my eyes focused on her bare back, helping her to lie back down on her stomach. I tried (unsuccessfully) not to think of her breasts and all that bare skin so close at hand. It was suddenly very hard to concentrate on the task at hand, especially when the task at hand involved touching all that smooth skin bared before my eyes.

I hesitantly placed a hand on her back, and Liz twitched faintly, turning her head to look at me. "Your hands are cold," she informed me, shuddering a little when my other hand came to join the first. I bit my lip and tried to avoid looking at her face, to think only of her injuries and not how close she was to being naked. Before she could snap at me about not being fast enough or not doing anything, I started to, so to speak, get the lay of the land, gently tracing the contours of her back to find out where the knots were and which areas were more tender. Occasionally she would let out a grunt of pain during my probing, which I noted. She made some comment to me about being afraid or treating her like she was made of glass, which I interpreted to mean that she wanted me to start kneading the muscles.

Lizzie's not so big on gentleness; she calls it "pussyfooting around." So I started to gently knead and pinch the muscles of her neck and shoulders, carefully so I wouldn't screw anything up. Liz held the most stress there, after all, and her shoulders were unduly burdened by her backpack, various athletic bags, and the heavy textbooks and goods contained within them. She hissed a little at first, the muscles were that tense, but gradually came to relax under my ministrations. I had to repeatedly remind myself of how the last back massage I'd given her had gone in an attempt to suppress some of the urges I was being reminded of. It was especially annoying because I had to doubly suppress my feelings, as I was reminded of how incredibly hot last time was and where exactly her hand had been on my thigh.

I bit my lip hard when my hands started to go lower, thumbs rubbing circles down the sides of her spine, palms pressing heavily into sensitive spots, attempting to soothe the muscles. I heard faint popping sounds and occasional grunts (half of which were probably from my hands, the rest from her bones and muscles properly aligned and relaxed) as I went along. Then things got a bit more problematic as I started to go lower, taking care to be gentle, as I was getting progressively closer to her injury. Lizzie usually had a lot of tension in her lower back for reasons that I believe are peculiar to women and perhaps some of the sports she plays, but it was an area that I rarely got to for the obvious reasons of propriety and the innate stupidity of the decision to put my hands so close to her ass.

So Liz was groaning and, occasionally, moaning, more than usual, and almost flailing a bit, really. It was starting to become a lot more difficult to concentrate, let alone suppress the many vaguely alarming and terrifying thoughts running through my head of all the nasty things I'd like to do to her. It was worse still because there was this little annoying voice in the back of my head telling me how easy it would be and estimating how far it thought I could get and approximately how amenable it thought Lizzie would be to the idea... and that voice sounded annoyingly familiar and rather disturbingly like my own voice, what with all the statistics and tabulating. I was beginning to get a little uncomfortable in the jeans I was wearing, what with all those tiny sounds she was making and how warm and soft her skin was under my hands, and, Oppenheimer, I remembered with a sudden, painful pang how much softer her breasts were, and how sweet her...

I shook my head, forcefully terminating my thoughts there. They could go no further, and recalling the very distant past wasn't going to help anyone, least of all me. That was the _past_ for a VERY GOOD reason, after all, regardless of whether or not Lizzie is making the same sounds right now (not quite but almost!) as she did back then. I was starting to get a little too into it, perhaps, and Lizzie was sounding altogether a bit too comfortable with it. Then, of course, just as things were starting to get extremely awkward, the door opens and my little pain-in-the-ass sister barges in like she owns the place.

At that moment, I didn't know it was Marti. All I knew was that someone had opened the door and that whoever it was was doubtlessly going to get the wrong impression about what was actually going on. I was more or less straddling her back, only a few milliliters away from aligning perfectly with her body. So I had approximately five seconds to find a way out of this situation and wound up half-leaping, half-flinging myself off of her, half-falling, tumbling to the floor in an inelegant heap. Half of it was surprise, and half of it was my will, so it wound up being a confused, not-at-all-smooth gesture. It made it look like I'd been doing something I shouldn't have been, which was exactly what I didn't need Marti thinking.

I had landed rather hard on my back, and it had happened so unexpectedly that I'd had all the wind knocked out of me. I saw Marti glowering down at me. She gave me a look of disgust, a penetrating look like she knew what I'd been thinking while in that position, and then purposefully stepped on me. I grunted, too breathless to groan like I wanted. By this time, a vaguely annoyed Lizzie had turned, carefully shielding her breasts, to see who had interrupted us. "Ew," Marti pronounced, throwing Lizzie a sharp, rather disgusted look, "I heard moaning, and I walk in on you and my brother fooling around? The hell?"

Liz straightened marginally, assuming a defensive position. I didn't even bother to protest from my position on the floor, still trying to catch my breath. Marti's sharp hell pressing down on the fleshy part just below my sternum didn't exactly help matters. "Marti, he was giving me a back massage," an annoyed Lizzie stated in a tone that left no room for questions. As usual, Marti ignored common sense.

She threw Liz a skeptical look, eying her naked torso pointedly. "You can tell me, you know, Liz. You don't have to make excuses," Marti insisted, trying to be more mature than she really was. I gaped at her in disbelief, wondering how it was she didn't seem to be judging Lizzie for this when she'd said such nasty things to me. Liz threw me an incredulous look, as if this was the first time she'd heard that Marti harbored such beliefs about us. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Marti moved a fraction closer to Lizzie, keeping her foot, however, firm on my stomach, cutting off my air supply. "Look, whatever Edwin made you do... It's okay. We can tell someone and get you some help and-"

I literally stared at her with an open mouth, unable to believe what she was insinuating about me. Didn't my little sister know me at all? I wanted nothing more than to throttle her, to stuff something in her mouth to shut her up and make her stop saying such nasty things about the both of us. "And _what _kind of guy do you think I am exactly, Marti?" I interjected bitterly, swiping at her ankle and sending her to the floor and off of my chest. I scrambled to get to my feet before, Newton forbid, we started to wrestle like we used to when we were two and seven.

Liz started to sit up, obviously uncomfortable and prettily crossing her arms over her chest. She interrupted before Marti could make a nasty remark or I could say anything else and get angrier. She only looked at Marti, not at me. Her eyes were cool, and her voice still frostier. "Just what, exactly, do you think Edwin's _making_ me do?" she asked in a dangerously calm voice, tilting her head curiously. It became clear after an awkward moment of silence that her question was rhetorical. Marti looked like she was going to vomit rather than answer the question and gave Lizzie a hard look as an answer. But, of course, Liz wanted to hear her say it.

She sighed, casting me a look of distaste. "He's obviously us-" She froze for a moment, unable to say anything further. Liz gave her an expectant look, motioning for her to go on (after adjusting herself), utterly nonplussed. "He's using you for sex! To fulfill his own sick sister-screwing desires, okay? You don't think I see the way he stares after you sometimes when you're not looking? It's not right!" Marti blurted dramatically. My knees almost buckled out of a mixture of surprise and extreme disgust that my little sister could think such awful things about me.

Liz bristled, looking at me briefly before turning back to Marti. Her lips were a thin white line, and then her tight facial features relaxed, and she allowed an amused look to pass over her face. Leaning on her free arm, she regarded Marti coolly and then threw the most wanton once-over she could in my direction. "And what if I said I was okay with that, Marti?" she added sharply, locking eyes with mine and holding my stare uncomfortably long. My eyes started to burn, but she didn't blink. It was like I was being hypnotized. Liz straightened further, holding her neck up proudly, the barest hints of a smirk forming on her lips. "No one forces _me_ to do anything," she drawled, right, of course.

Marti paled, looking absolutely mortified, a look of even deeper revulsion crossing her face. She looked not only like she wanted to vomit but like she wanted to gouge and burn her eyes out simultaneously. Liz huffed at Marti's stunned silence and turned around so Marti could see the bruises on her back, which were better than the ones on her front, lighter and smaller, undoubtedly (and I hadn't even seen those). She snorted, silently mocking Marti for being so gullible. "Seriously, Marti... Edwin's wearing all of his clothes. There is nothing sexual about this," she said sternly, rolling her eyes, more than a bit annoyed. She unthinkingly brought her hands down to gesture. "Honestly, I'm insulted you think so little of your brother. And of me... You do realize that you basically accused him of coercing me into having sex with him... Like I'm some bimbo who can't make her own decisions!" she exclaimed in a tone that was a mixture of severity and outrage, offense, even. "At the very least, you owe him an apology," she continued in all seriousness.

Of course, I'm sure Marti had trouble registering this, as Lizzie's breasts were clearly and plainly on display, and she was too stunned to say much of anything. Aware of Marti's presence, I was trying my hardest to not look or act at all like anything was amiss. Of course, I still looked a bit more than I should've, but I couldn't help it, really, because they were just sort of _out_ there, you know... and it's not like I see a topless girl every day. I mean, Lizzie's breasts aren't huge or anything, but they're pretty... I should not even _mentally_ be able to finish that sentence. "Liz," I said pointedly, regaining some presence of mind, "you might want to cover up a little. You wouldn't walk Dad or Truman to walk in now, would you?"

I then made a point of looking for her shirt on the floor, feeling that, given the situation, me picking up one of Lizzie's sexy bras (ugh, for Derek again) might give off the wrong impression. Liz' eyes widened slightly, as she made the reflexive disgusted face at the mention of Truman's name, and she glanced down, crossing her arms over her chest but not even flushing. She shrugged a bit stiffly. "It's nothing you haven't seen already!" she retorted, causing me to pointedly avoid Marti's gaze in favor of the floor. I soon managed to find Liz' shirt, which I threw to her and she somewhat uncomfortably pulled over her head, not even half-heartedly directing us not to look. As much as I wanted to look, and as much as Lizzie wouldn't have noticed (although I suppose she might've made a quip about it), I looked away determinedly. Marti was there, after all, and she would've noticed and given me hell about it for weeks.

"Oh, really, Lizzie? So how often exactly does Edwin see you shirtless? He walk in on you in the shower a lot?" Marti persisted suspiciously, once again not apologizing to me. A shirt-clad Lizzie scowled at her, realizing that Marti had ignored her, but of course Marti would ignore her disapproval as well.

"It's a small house, Marti. How many times have we all accidentally walked in on each other, what with there only being two bathrooms in this house?" I cringed, remembering with a sudden viciousness that we were soon to increase our already-strained numbers by two more this very night. If seven people had been a stretch, how would fourteen be (much less with at least half of them on this floor)? Malthus would have a field-day with us and our unsustainability. Marti almost looked a bit chagrined there, so Lizzie continued her rant, "I mean, honestly, Marti, do you have any idea how many people I change in front of or have been more or less naked in front of on, like, a daily basis? I mean, first off there's all of you. And then there's the girls' swim-team, hockey team, track team, basketball, my soccer team, not to mention all the girls at the gym, and my friends when we go shopping sometimes... It's really no big deal."

Marti threw her a "come-on" look, and Lizzie motioned for me to retrieve her bra, since she couldn't properly bend over with her ribs as bruised as they were. I rolled my eyes and picked it up by the strap with two fingers. Liz took it from me gratefully and started to put it back on in front of us. Marti was even more incredulous; Lizzie was nonplussed as ever. "So what'd you come up here for, Marti? What do you want?"

She shrugged. "Grandma Felicia's gonna be here in like, fifteen minutes. And Aunt Madge'll be here in an hour or so. Mom wants you looking "presentable." And to get Edwin to drag a comb through his hair," Marti pronounced. All in all, rather unnecessary, along with the needlessly disgusted look she was shooting Lizzie for putting her bra on under her shirt. Then Marti left. Liz rolled her eyes and decided to head down to her room to get a dress out of her closet that she wanted my opinion on later. Oh joy, I get to see Lizzie flouncing around in something that probably clings to the skin and doesn't leave much to the imagination. What this time, velvet? I decided to use the time to put on a nicer shirt and comb my hair before steeling myself for Aunt Madge's cheek-pinching arrival. I've gotten pretty good at dodging her over the years.

I realized rather late that Marti still hadn't apologized to either me or Lizzie, as she ought to have done, but I figured the odds of Lizzie remembering and insisting upon that were fairly slim, so I just decided to call it a lost cause. Fortunately, I fell asleep shortly after this and so I wound up missing most of the commotion, that is, until Liz came upstairs and jabbed me in the side until I got off my bed. And then, of course, she proceeded to drag me down the stairs to dinner (I was still groggy and not exactly fit to think, let alone see anyone at the table).

Casey was simultaneously working on crafts and going over a schedule at the dinner table to anyone who would listen. Vicky and Truman were elsewhere, but we still had to pull some mismatched chairs and a folding table to have room enough for everyone. Sebastian and Marti had been relegated to the kid's table along with a very uncomfortable Sergei and Great Aunt Madge, who was attempting to chat the poor guy up. Nora had kicked Casey out of the kitchen earlier for her own peace of mind and partially because Casey never ceased talking. Noel either hadn't arrived yet or was off in the bathroom because he wasn't sitting next to her. I think Dad was helping Nora in the kitchen.

Derek was sitting across from Casey at the table, as was habitual. He was trying unsuccessfully to draw her attention away from whatever she was doing (why, all of a sudden, did she have this endless need to be doing two things at once and chattering a mile a minute to fill the silence?). Felicia was sitting in Nora's seat, for the time being, at least, pretending to be interested in what Casey was saying but making a rather pained facial gesture. Liz more or less pushed me into the seats furthest away from them, taking the seat opposite mine, as was our habit when eating with both Casey and Derek.

As we got there, it seemed like Derek couldn't take Casey's inattention anymore. He reached across the table, swiftly snatching whatever it was she was making from her hands and tossing it behind him. "Hey, Casey, can you shut up? You're sucking all the fun out of Derekus, and not in the good way," Derek drawled in the form of a request. He added a wink at the end just so his allusion wouldn't be missed (and, I'm sure, because he wanted to see Casey go red in front of her grandmother). My brother is a sick man, what can I say?

Casey gaped for a moment before rising to her feet in protest, leaving the schedule forgotten on the table. Derek smirked up at her, almost as if daring her to do her worst. "Ugh, you are so disgusting, Derek!" she grunted, bodily shoving him back down into his seat. He'd begun to rise up a little. She started to walk around to try and grab whatever stupid things she'd been making (I believe she was in the process of embroidering my name on a stocking or something equally inane), but at that very moment, Dad and Mom walked in, putting a stop to the outbreak of violence that was bound to occur. After all, Derek wouldn't have just let her _have_ the stocking.

Mom set Casey's piping hot casserole down on the table between the two, kindly but firmly motioning for Casey to sit back down, even to the point of pushing her. George followed with an overflowing bowl of salad and a pitcher of water. Dad came back with some more vegetables and the tea that Felicia and Sergei had requested. When Dad returned to the kitchen, probably to help Nora with the meat, Noel came in, and, upon seeing Sebastian, decided to forfeit his place to C, making Marti the only one of us left at the kiddie table. This of course obliged Lizzie and myself to move next to the dragon and the tiger, so C could sit next to Dad or Mom because that boy needs supervision.

Dad and Nora finally brought in the meat, somewhat awkwardly sliced but still pretty decent looking, some sort of pot-roast the likes of which Nora rarely made. Dad managed to step on the embroidery on his way to his seat at the head of the table, damaging the embroidery and simultaneously injuring himself. Casey began apologizing profusely and blaming Derek, who made things worse for himself than they might've been with his traditional insensitive comment. "Guess you didn't see it there, did you, Clueless?" he said in a pitying voice. Dad snapped and threw a roll at him. He normally doesn't do that unless Derek's already been pushing his buttons, so I guess Dad was a little on edge.

Derek, however, caught the roll and laughed over it, crowing over his triumph over Dad, how easy Dad's pride was to wound, I suppose. "Thanks, Dad," he said gratefully, a bit mockingly, taking a hearty bite out of the roll and flashing him a smile. I mean, really, it's been years... you'd have thought Dad would've gotten over it by now. We all sat down and began to eat, more or less. I was vaguely aware of Dad and Nora's eyes shooting over to me a bit more than usual, but they were more than preoccupied with C to have time to say a spare word to me. I wasn't surprised; I kind of figured, really.

My brother was wolfing down Casey's casserole like he thought he was in some sort of eating contest, and he'd get a prize for winning. Casey was eating quietly, making idle conversation and giving Noel mournful cow eyes, evidently feeling a little insecure without him by her side. I noticed that she played with the ring every few moments or so, twisting it on her finger, flexing her finger so the light hit it in certain ways. Derek's potato-filled jaw clenched every time she did this. Then, all of a sudden, Nora gave my father a significant look, or so Lizzie tells me (I wasn't looking at the time). "Edwin," Dad said, clearing this throat awkwardly, "We need to talk."

I raised a brow, looking up at him. "And we have to do that _here_? Now?" I asked, glancing around the table pointedly, resigning myself to my punishment at hopefully a later date. Really, though, seeing Paul and being forced to volunteer after school for months was already better enough. So not worth kind of breaking one guy's jaw, no matter how much of an ass he was. I should've known, however, that my father was not tactful or wise enough to postpone the conversation for a more private venue.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, since nothing in my life is ever really private except my thoughts. And, according to Lizzie, those apparently show on my face, and "you just have to know how to look." Nora frowned, neglecting Sebastian for a moment. She had been supervising his eating, carefully instructing him to avoid a mess. "I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore. We hear all this stuff from other people, like how you punched this guy or had a relationship with Noel's sister and what... had a fling with Lizzie's friend-" Nora began, looking directly at me and looking as disappointed as I'd ever seen her. It kind of hurt to have that look directed at me.

"Mom, she's _not_ my friend," Lizzie corrected immediately, a bit vexed at the insinuation. Nora'd all but spat "fling" as if it were a dirty word, which I suppose it sort of was. However, what she said made my hackles rise a little. After all, me having a relationship with Noel's sister was none of their business. Since when was my sex life any of their business, given that the vast majority of what there is of it (not that there's a lot to brag about) occurs under other people's roofs? I'm smart, safe, and, I like to think, considerate about it, and I don't go around screwing random girls. With a few exceptions, but even then I knew most of them. I know they're supposed to question my decisions but I generally make very good decisions, especially about this sort of thing, and it bothered me that they didn't trust me and suddenly looked at me differently, like they expected me to be a white rose of purity or something.

Nora rolled her eyes, preventing Lizzie from saying anything further by once again turning her steady gaze on me. "-And it just doesn't sound like the Edwin we know..." she continued, sounding even more disappointed.

And, for whatever reason, that little throwaway phrase she'd just said there set me off. I'd been really losing my sangfroid a lot today, and that just wouldn't do. After all, given all the time she and George spent with me, which was literally just dinner and breakfast and sometimes family meetings and the like, how could either of them make a claim that they actually knew me? Dad, my biological father, had forgotten my birthday. Do I think either of them know what my favorite color is or who my teachers are or what classes I'm in? No, not really. They know some of my friends and my food preferences, but other than that, what do they really know about me? I grew up, and I'm not the same kid they used to know.

So I shrugged, meeting her stare evenly but coolly, repressing the wave of annoyance and irritation that was threatening to overwhelm me. "Maybe you don't know me anymore." I regretted it a minute or so after I said it, seeing how shaken and sad Nora looked all of a sudden. I realized a moment after that, tearing my gaze away from her, that the entire table had more or less stopped to stare at me, some in shock, others in disappointment and reproach. Once again, I wanted to vaporize.

"Edwin," Dad began seriously, turning away from Sebastian. I raised a brow, motioning for him to, by all means, go on. Dad went on some long probably really embarrassing speech that I wasn't even remotely listening to. I knew what he was going to say, after all, before the words even left his lips.

Still, I didn't exactly want to have it out in front of our entire family at the dinner table, but better now, I suppose, than Christmas Eve. I shrugged, perhaps a bit too nonchalant, given how uncomfortable I was with everyone's rapt attention on me. "Look, I didn't tell you about punching Brent 'cause I didn't think it was a big deal. Lassie and I dealt with it at school, and I'm being punished or whatever, so I didn't see why I needed to mention it to you when I figured Lassie had probably called anyway," I said unapologetically, pausing only a moment before continuing. "Besides, I learned a long time ago that my problems are less important than anyone else's in the grand scheme of things. And they don't really matter anyway." It was how I'd learned how to deal with everything on my own. If I didn't deal with my own issues, no one else was going to, and with Derek and Casey away, where else could I turn?

I didn't need to look to know that Dad and Mom were both horrified and embarrassed. A part of me felt bad about that, especially because I knew Felicia was sure to have something mean to say about it, but at the time I didn't really care. I was just stating a fact, after all, that my needs and problems and issues come after everyone else's in this family. I'm not a drama queen like Casey or an alpha male like Derek or an attention-seeker like Marti or the baby like C. I don't do anything crazy, and I don't make much of a fuss because I don't really need a lot, so I don't stand out. As a result, Nora and Dad pay proportionally less attention to me, and as much as I like to pretend that's acceptable, it kind of isn't. Especially now, when they're getting on me with stuff like this.

They're my parents, and I love them, but I can't count the number of times they've taken a serious interest in my life. Dad started to bring up Tanya or whatever, and then I just kind of started to lose it. I fixed him with a glare. "Come on, Dad. I'm eighteen, and you seriously think I'm not gonna sleep with anyone? Were you a teenage boy, or, for that matter, where _were _you when Derek was living here?" I retorted irritably, not glancing at Lizzie, who was watching the whole scene with disapproval etched firmly onto her face (as, I'm sure, was her sister). Derek smirked a little, puffing himself up a bit, and I saw Casey make a disgusted face at him out of the corner of my eye.

Dad sputtered to say something probably inane, something that would've undoubtedly pushed me further over the edge. Fortunately for us both, Sebastian stood up on his seat and piped up, adorably confused, "Why are you mad that Edwin sleeps with girls? I mean, I get that they have cooties and everything... but he sleeps with Lizzie all the time?"

My face was burning like the surface of Mercury. Liz looked mildly amused, and Nora and Dad had looks of vague consternation on their faces. Derek was barely suppressing his laughter next to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Casey, to the rescue as usual, opened her mouth and started to explain very primly, "Bastian, sweetie, that's different..." She faltered a bit, obviously wondering how to explain this to him. She shot me a rather suspicious look, since she'd been surprised (and probably alarmed) to hear that Lizzie and I still slept together sometimes, or, as C put it, "all the time."

Sebastian, sensing her uneasiness and lack of an explanation, mercifully interrupted her. I had no doubt it would have been ten times as awkward if Ms. After-School-Special had taken it upon herself to give him a proper answer. Derek laughed openly at Casey's failure to articulate, turning just enough to shoot me a curious but somewhat admiring glance, as if he thought me being in the same bed as Lizzie was some kind of big leap towards his plans to get us together. "Is it because she's jealous that he's not sleeping with her?" C insisted in all seriousness.

I think perhaps everyone's mouths were gaping open after this comment. I was so mortified I couldn't speak at all, even if I'd wanted to. For once in my life, the words would not come. Casey looked absolutely scandalized by the whole thing, and once again, Derek was shaking with silent laughter. A vaguely stern look passed over Lizzie's face, but she look pity on me and cut in before Casey could. "Yeah, that's right, Sebastian. I'm really jealous and hurt that _other_ girls get to sleep with Edwin," she deadpanned, tone all solemness but so sarcastic that it was impossible for anyone to keep a straight face after that. Lizzie gave him a patronizing smile, leaning towards our brother. "It doesn't make me feel very special to know that he's been with other girls... at night..." she continued in that same saccharine tone she reserved for reading C fairy tales.

Just after uttering this, hand lightly on his shoulder, she turned to me with that vaguely crazy look in her eyes and mouthed, "you _so_ owe me for this." I nodded slightly, glancing around the table warily. Everyone was, by that point, kind of stunned that she'd said that, and no one really knew what to make of it. Lizzie had sounded so serious that more than a few family members thought she was being perfectly serious (especially Marti). Derek stopped laughing to give me a questioning look, which I ignored, only to see a similar although far more disapproving expression on Grandma Felicia's face. I managed to avoid grimacing.

Liz had paused for a moment, but catching sight of the expression on her grandmother's face was enough to get her thinking. A moment later, thinking quickly, she said, "He should only be sleeping with me 'cause I'm his very _best_ friend in the whole world. And you should only sleep with people you _really_ love and trust..." She said it looking directly at Sebastian, slowly and carefully so that he would take her seriously. Being four, C failed to understand the significance of her speech. Marti, on the other hand, could barely suppress her giggles, which she attempted to pass off as coughs with no success. Liz turned away from him for a moment to smile at me wickedly, and my heart thudded unpleasantly as I wondered what kind of idea the others were getting about our relationship.

She sat up a little straighter, turning back to C with a teacherly expression on her face. "And those other girls, they don't care about Edwin the same way I do. They're not his real friends, you see, but your brother is a very generous person who puts up with a lot and lets a lot of... questionable people into his life." Here she turned to give me a scolding, slightly mocking look. If I had been feeling up to it, I would've given her a nasty look of my own, since I haven't _actually_ slept with that many people, and Lizzie more or less knows about all of them or at least has an idea. I attempted to no avail to sink down a little in my seat, but Derek jerked me back up with a similar mocking smile. I couldn't look anyone in the eyes, since I was getting strange looks, glares, and the like from everyone. I couldn't even defend myself because I just knew it would all come out sounding wrong.

C frowned up at her, pouting faintly. "But what's wrong with having a lot of friends?" he asked innocently. He, like his eldest brother, was a very popular little boy, after all. His forehead crinkled in displeasure and confusion. "I have sleepovers with people who aren't my best friends all the time. Like Tommy. I **hate **Tommy, and I still go over to his house once a month for a sleepover!" he exclaimed, working himself up a bit. It was true, too; someone always had to drag him there kicking and screaming. What it really was was Nora and George taking advantage of lonely, socially-isolated Tommy's mother's offer to take C off their hands for a weekend so they could have a little peace of mind for a change.

"You don't hate Tommy," Nora interjected diplomatically, attempting to soothe him. Casey too was shaking her head, trying to convince him that he didn't really feel that way.

C ignored Casey and turned to Nora, full-on scowling. He'd become vaguely red in the face from hyperventilatation. "_Yes_, I **do**!" he insisted defiantly in his tinny child voice. It burst out of him rather like a scream, and he slammed his fist on the table in his annoyance. He glowered around at all of us, daring us to challenge him, petulant and so resembling Derek that it was comical. I actually shouldn't say that because Derek rarely pouts like that. He resembled a combination of Derek and Casey, pouty-lipped and sulky with sharp eyes and inflexible demands. I wondered if Derek and Casey had registered the resemblance. Like the majority of his siblings, Sebastian had blue eyes, the blue eyes of Casey and Lizzie, and dark hair, though his messy hair was closer to mine than Derek's in color. With his more angular features and that famous Venturi grin, he took after our side more than the McDonalds' and actually recalled a younger version of Marti.

Once again, Liz stepped in to remedy the situation. "I wasn't saying that it wasn't okay to have sleepovers with people who aren't your best friend, sweetie. I was saying that you should only have sleepovers with people who really care about you or people you really like," she said cautiously, warmly even. Casey sighed into her hand, fighting a grimace. Derek smirked, patting me on the shoulder fraternally. Once again, I had the feeling I was missing something there, but I didn't exactly want to know what it was.

"Poor kid's gonna be so confused," I muttered to Liz a while afterward, glancing at C, who was still absorbing all of this and frowning to himself.

Lizzie gave me an arch look. "But he'll have better morals than the rest of the men in his family," she rejoined swiftly, her glance cutting across me and my brother in one fell swoop. I bit back a comment about how my mother was probably the only weirdo my dad had ever slept with. Her foot tapped mine under the table, a reminder that I still owed her for salvaging that series of awkward moments.

After that, though, with a few minor exceptions, the dinner went just about as smoothly as we could've expected, really. A false calm started to settle over us all, but that was to be shattered violently the next day. All hell always breaks out on Christmas Eve, don't you know?

Lor ;*

Hope you enjoyed that. Reviews are grrrrreatly appreciated. Next chapter we have drama of the Lizzie/Derek/Edwin variety with a splash of Truman and a brief pinch of Noel, so brief you'll forget he was even there.

And just 'cause I'm feeling a tiny bit generous I'll show you a peek at the massive Derek/Casey showdown, in dialogue form because a lot of times I type things out that way first and add in the actions later. Plus it makes things more mysterious... And I still have to edit all of it together, so, without further ado (also, just a note, when we finally get attention to it, pay a lot of attention to what they actually say, their tones, the names they use, that sort of thing, not just their words... if that makes any sense?):

"You don't have to say it like it's that _repulsive_... But it's tradition, dear sister. It's the rules, and you love rules. And you've never been one to buck tradition."

(scoffs, pushing past him) "And you've been one to follow it?" (beat, over her shoulder) "Besides, you said it yourself. You're the _exception_ to every rule, right, Venturi?"

"Not this one."

Tell me whatcha think. ;)


	23. Reactivity

One little thing to clear things up, Christmas Eve will be divided into two chapters (the first part of which is like, 32 pages!). The dramatic and exciting first half, in which you see a lot of family time and disaster and a bit, well, actually, a significant bit of Derek/Casey interaction, which occurs during the daytime and early evening. And that interaction sort of sets it up for the night chapter, which occurs after the dinner and family togetherness when almost everyone is sleeping except Derek, Casey, and our dear narrator. ;) The night chapter is full of action and thought and mystery and confusion for all involved. In which Derek does something stupid, and something unexpected happens to our dear Edwin, and things begin to change. Which you'll actually begin to see in this chapter, I think, the whole things-are-changing-vibe. And you should also hopefully be left with more questions than you had before, I think.

But yeah, so I'm really pumped about the Christmas Eve-ness, and I really think that you guys are going to like it, at least from what I've written so far. I just hope it's not too overwhelming. 'Cause a lot of stuff happens, much like it does with real families. ;)

That being said, this chapter might not be the most exciting chapter out there, but it's certainly nothing to slouch at either. It kind of sets up a few things, especially the next chapter, but the devil's in the details, so pay attention to even things that seem tiny. I can't really say much else without giving it away. Um, and let's see, I own nothing except the plot and Noel's sister in this chapter.

Ah, to GG, for one thing, thank you for reviewing. I was beginning to think there was something wrong since it had been two days with like, no one reviewing. Lol. And also I'm glad you thought that was hilarious. That was my goal. But, I dunno, it's always hard to tell for me if what I write is really that funny or moving or whatever because when you're writing it, you're sort of immune, you know? And, odd as it may be, I'm not one to be much moved to do anything by writing (sometimes I laugh out loud, but not very often). And also, I really, really, really try hard on the science things, but it's harder now since I haven't been in a science class in aaaages. While I do get what you mean about Casey always following tradition, I'm fairly confident that you've misunderstood because I left out the context in which Derek is saying that. I'm nasty like that. ;) And the context is very specific and very important. And, on the one level, what you said is sort of true. Derek's mocking her for always following tradition, and he's trying to use that against her to get her to do what he wants because what he wants her to do is the "done" thing, the "accepted" thing to do in that circumstance. Which you'll see later. Hehe. You're more right about Casey in this scenario. She's rebuffing Derek's attempt at manipulating her by pointing out that he's the exception to every rule, so she's making an exception in not following the tradition. But in this case Derek's not really in a position to break a rule, if that makes sense. He's waiting on Casey and, well, you'll see a bit more about her and her somewhat puzzling reaction in that chapter.

Sofy! You know, for starters, one of my very best friends is named Sophie. I'm glad you like it! I'm kind of in love with Lizzie and Edwin together. Which may be why the majority of the fic is just the two of them, one-on-one, with so much left unsaid and unexplored... yet somehow open and trusting at the same time. Well, there will be PLENTY of awkward situations with them both in the coming chapters and later on. Like, for instance, in the next four chapters or so, they're going to be mistaken for a couple twice. Lol. Not to mention Derek's attempts at matchmaking and whatnot. And of course there will be some awkward sexiness because, well, duh, that is a very important component of this fic. But things between them do start to heat up and change coming up, and hopefully you'll be able to tell that starting from this chapter, actually. As for whether or not it's gonna end with them in a sibling relationship or not... Good question, but I'm prolly not gonna give you as clear of an answer as you want. It has a happy ending. Other than that I can't say. But I will say that in their case, mostly because of the way I've written it, it's impossible to divorce the sibling relationship from their relationship in general. They can't get rid of that shared past, you know? And no, the review's perfectly fine. I learned Spanish in school, so I understand. Besos a ti tambien!

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. Oh, and also, obviously I don't own these characters or else the show would have no business being on the Disney channel, what with all the swearing and close encounters of a sexual kind and the whole vibe of this story. ;) I actually kind of hate the whole disclaimer thing, to tell the truth. Because, like, why should I have to state that I don't own this TV show? It's pretty damn obvious I don't. I mean, if you thought I did, then, oh, shucks, the jig is up! Lol. And if I did, I'm posting on a fanfiction site, so I think that's me admitting I don't own it... I know it's a convention and everything, and, like, a way of showing respect for the originators or whatever, but it feels redundant. I recently read an article in Time about fanfiction, which, I gotta say, prevented a much more positive view of fanfiction than I expected or than is actually the case (I mean, he forgot to mention all the really poorly written stories on here, especially in fandoms populated by teenyboppers or some of the seriously twisted people who are out there, lol). And the self-expression thing. But I'm getting way distracted here from the actual point of the story, so here you have the chapter. And yes, I do mean to shock you. ;)

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**Reactivity:** 1. The likelihood of a chemical reaction, such as the formation of new compounds, occurring under certain conditions and stimuli. 2. The rate and speed of such an occurrence.

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Later on that night, also at dinner, Derek announced he'd been given funding to turn his screenplay into a movie. He'd won a competition and had gotten a decent-sized grant, and, he added a moment later, he was looking for actors to fill the roles. He didn't say much about the plot of his screenplay, but he'd mentioned in some throw-away comment that they were intrigued by the dysfunctional and twisted familial dynamics that led to the collapse of the family, and that the judges apparently thought he was talking about the collapse of the modern family. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew exactly what he was on about. He smiled his most charming smile and asked Liz and me to do a reading for him tomorrow night at the big family dinner.

Given the look on Casey's face and the way she was all but making a neck-slashing gesture, I didn't think it would even remotely resemble a good decision. Liz, however, said yes before I could say a word against it, then she threw a puppy-dog look at me so I was obligated to join in. Derek clapped his hands, rubbing them together, evidently pleased. I fought a grimace. Anything for Derek, right, Liz?

After that, the fogies headed to bed with Sebastian. Mom went off to talk to Grandma in the basement, and Marti was coerced into showing Great Aunt Madge to her room. She was then roped into playing a rousing game of mah-jong with her (Aunt Madge, ever the enthusiast, always brought a set with her). That left us older ones to sit around the living room. Derek assumed the recliner, easily "satisfied" by turning to the sports channel. Noel, seeking to ingratiate himself with Derek, sat nearest to him on the couch and joined in on the commentating. Noel knew Derek didn't really like him, despite Casey's many assurances that he did and not to worry about it. I felt kind of bad for the guy, but I figured telling him Derek would never really like him, and he could do nothing to change that fact since it wasn't even his fault, probably wouldn't help matters.

Liz had gone upstairs to change into her pajamas to get more comfortable. I was slightly alarmed, wondering what she'd come down wearing. Casey, meanwhile, was trying unsuccessfully to attract Noel's attention and complaining to me when she couldn't. At that point, I kind of just wanted to watch TV in peace, trying hard not to think about Lizzie undressing in my bedroom, but I managed to humor Casey nonetheless. Derek rolled his eyes as Noel said something, and Casey predictably made some comment. Derek made another comment, all of it rather forgettable, honestly. Noel looked between them like he was watching a tennis match, and I wanted to smother all of them with the endless stream of throw pillows on the couch.

This somehow led to a fight between Casey and Noel. I think she accused him of not caring enough about the wedding or something equally inane. What she really was was bored and demanding, but whatever. Noel was undeservedly apologetic and accommodating about it. Eventually, she worked herself up into such a fit that she called him "Derek." She immediately froze afterward, mostly in horror. A paralyzingly awkward moment of silence ensued. And then, Derek, who had also been surprised by this whole thing, allowed a smug smile to spread across his face. He turned and flashed the smirk in Noel's direction. Noel gave him a vaguely befuddled look, but a petrified Casey stormed off, up the stairs, as if she had wings. Later on, of course, she would deny the whole incident happened, despite all of us having witnessed it. Typical Casey, that selective memory.

Noel would drop the subject, but Derek would still grin when asking her about it. Noel just frowned, looking confused. "What's eating her?" he asked, thinking hard. I made a face at him, gesturing with my neck up the stairs. He did need to give Casey a minute to calm down, but, at the same time, it was better that he go after her now. This whole situation kind of sucks for Noel because, well, he's completely out of his depth, what with the whole Derek-and-Casey dynamic. Noel sighed, looking for a moment as if he was going to ask Derek for advice. Judging by the just-short-of-murderous look on Derek's face, it was better that he restrained himself.

Noel cleared his throat and awkwardly turned to me. He looked at me for a while in utter silence, as if figuring out what to say to me. I thought he was working up the guts to ask about Casey, perhaps some really awkward Derek-related question that I wasn't going to answer, but that wasn't what he said at all. "Look, I'm sorry I even have to be asking you this, but I don't really have a choice. I know you and my sister have history and that she had, uh, feelings for you or whatever. And I was wondering..." I stiffened, not at all expecting this line of inquiry. Noel paused, giving me an apologetic look. His voice dropped an octave. "Do you still have feelings for her? It's just... she and her fiancé are having a lot of problems lately, and it kind of seems like Zoë's looking for a way out. And I'm afraid she might come to you."

Apparently Noel wasn't quiet enough because Derek looked over at us in interest, raising a brow. "You had a thing with Noel's sister?" he asked me incredulously. I nodded at him dumbly, aware I was treading on very thin ice. I'd forgotten that Derek wasn't there for that particular awkwardness. I eyed Noel a bit anxiously, surprised he hadn't punched me. I knew how both Derek and I got about people moving in on our sisters, much less with the knowledge of what I'd actually done with his sister, which many brothers would kill me for. Derek had a contemplative look on his face. "Your last name is Covington, right, Noel?" he asked, surprising the both of us by addressing Noel directly.

Noel was unable to erase the stunned look from his face, but he nodded anyway, still astonished Derek was taking an interest. I saw a kind of light flicker in Derek's eyes, as he suddenly realized who Noel's sister was. "Wait, _Zoë_ Covington?" he interjected disbelievingly, shooting looks at the both of us. He gave me kind of an admiring glance I didn't entirely like, and I was forced to reassure myself that I knew for a fact that she and Derek had never had a thing. I had never asked, but she'd always made it very clear she didn't think of me as Derek's brother. Noel and I both nodded in response to his question, and Derek made some sort of remark, turning back wisely to the television, as if he didn't know what to think.

I sighed, turning back to Noel to directly address his question. "Look, Noel, I get what you're trying to do here. I have a sister too, and I know you just want what's best for her." I'd bought myself some time, but how to answer specifically? He hadn't asked me if Zoë had come onto me... "There was a time when I was really fond of her, but we were over a long time ago. And I think it's best that way. So, even if she came to me... I'm not that guy. You don't have anything to worry about from me," I told him seriously, giving him my word. I felt just the tiniest bit guilty because of what had transpired between us the other night, but I couldn't go back in time and stop myself from kissing her back. She has her own issues to work out, and I'd just be some sort of excuse for her.

Noel smiled at me, but it was a kind of strained smile. Nonetheless, the man looked relieved. "Thanks, Edwin... It's just, well, you know how Zoë can get. Mom's practically at her wits' ends with her... and I feel like Zoë's looking for an excuse, you know, to not go through with it," he added a moment later, returning my honesty. I saw what he didn't dare say in his eyes, how they all thought she wasn't ready and that it was too soon, maybe even that he wasn't the right guy for her. I nodded hesitantly, thinking it all sounded rather a lot like her.

I wondered idly what was taking Lizzie so long. Whatever she was wearing must've been terribly difficult to get into because it wasn't that hard to take off her clothes... And I do not need to be thinking about that. She probably got delayed talking to Marti about some inanity. Or she's upstairs trying to comfort Casey or having her ear talked off about the wedding. Perhaps Aunt Madge roped her into the mahjong game. All of these were far more rational conclusions than it taking her that long to put on whatever she'd decided to change into. I had a nasty feeling, however, that she was probably wearing something tighter and more revealing than I would have liked, something that probably wasn't more comfortable at all.

Then, of course, at that moment, Truman and Vicky stumbled in through the front door. Vicky was tarted up, dress high on her thighs. She aimed a sleazy grin in Derek's direction, which he dismissed. Vicky pouted at the expression, starting for him only to be held back by her boyfriend. She shot Truman a vaguely irritated glance before turning her smirk Noel's direction. Noel just looked confused, not even eying her thighs as Derek had fleetingly, and Vicky huffed. She jerked her arm away from Truman. "I'm tired. Gonna go upstairs and get some sleep," she half-shouted. I saw from their attire that they'd been to some club or bar and were probably a little worse for it. She smirked at Truman rather maliciously, throwing a glance in our direction. "Enjoy the couch, Tru!" she called over her shoulder before (somewhat drunkenly) flouncing up the stairs.

Truman walked over to us rather like a zombie and very nearly collapsed on top of us. He glowered at Noel so intensely that Noel made his excuses and decided he was better off talking to Casey after all. He was understandably wary of Truman and naturally seeking to ensure his connection with Casey was strong enough to withstand her ex's sudden arrival in all its upheaval. He was smarter about that sort of thing than we gave him credit for. Derek rolled his eyes mildly as I shoved Truman off of me. Truman was blathering on about something that none of us were paying attention to when Lizzie came downstairs.

She sashayed downstairs like one of those slow-motion scenes in the teen movies she and Casey like to watch, you know, the scene where the girl, all dressed-up, comes down the stairs and the guy's watching her. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hot. She'd done something with her hair, which fanned out behind her in messy waves. Her outfit, if you could call it that, left my throat dry as bone. She was wearing some sort of slip or nightgown thing, done up in sort of a Santa Claus pattern, red satin with white faux-fur trim. It was so tight it was very nearly plastered to her skin, fabric tracing all her muscles and rippling when she moved. The dress emphasized the narrowness of her waist, the leanness of her physique, and the way her legs seemed to go on endlessly, long and creamy. Her hipbones pressed against the fabric, jutting out like temptation. The dress was especially snug around her breasts, exposing a bit more of them than I was comfortable with my brother and Truman seeing.

Fortunately, Derek didn't notice. I had no doubt that Lizzie might've fallen down the stairs if his eyes had been on her like mine undoubtedly were, dark and intent. I wanted to stop staring, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. I felt like something bad would happen if I did. When Liz' feet reached the floor, she finally met my stare, offering me a all-too seductive smile. I was able to look away and immediately wondered if she was directing that look at my brother. Then I turned and caught a glimpse of Truman's face. He was staring at Lizzie without shame, completely enraptured by her and unable to take his eyes off her. Liz didn't notice... yet.

I let out a breath that was shakier than it should've been. Derek gave me a curious look and then followed my line of sight to look at Lizzie. She perked up under his stare, feeling it like others feel sunlight on their skin. She held herself high, posture straight and posed, elevating her to some sort of a goddess. Derek looked her over minutely, his face betraying no emotion. Lizzie visibly preened under his examination, but Derek didn't notice. Then, after a moment, Derek looked away from her, turning to give me a questioning look, quirking a brow at me. The look he gave me was highly suggestive, and I'm sure he would've made some sort of comment if he thought he could've gotten away with it.

Liz pouted a little bit when Derek looked away and began to walk towards us slowly. I looked away from Derek and saw the awed expression on Truman's face. His eyes were wide, jaw gaping open. It turned my stomach, it really did. I debated shoving him or something so Lizzie wouldn't notice, but I decided it would be more trouble than it was worth. Had we been alone, I almost certainly would've remarked on her lack of attire, but I knew that making a comment on how unusual it was would only make her glare at me... and potentially injure me.

For a moment she stood there, unsure, not quite knowing what to do. She leaned back a little, thrusting her hips forward just a bit, and she looked as confident as ever, but I could tell how uncertain and borderline uncomfortable she really was. She seemed a bit antsy, like Derek's not-looking-at-her (was he doing that for my benefit? Or because staring at his younger sister was weird?) bothered her. Then she glanced up, caught sight of the mistletoe, and I saw an idea flicker in her eyes. For once, I _really_ hoped she wasn't thinking what I was thinking... but I had a nasty feeling she was.

I remembered the conversation we'd had a few days ago, about how to make Derek jealous. And I remembered the advice I'd given her, and the things I'd been thinking, even if I had never said Truman's name out loud. Derek had never exactly voiced the fact that he disliked Truman, but it was rather obvious to one who knew him well and had seen the two of them interact one-on-one. I wasn't sure Lizzie would put the pieces together, since she had a way of being willfully ignorant that mirrored Casey and Derek's own ways. But, ultimately, who else had Derek ever really considered a rival? Who was enough like Derek to get at him? That didn't exactly seem like a no-brainer.

Truman was eying Lizzie with outright lust this time, and I saw with an arch of her perfect, proud neck that she noticed. He was getting bolder, and my stomach was churning menacingly. He rose to his feet slowly, as if in a trance, and started to move towards her. Derek wasn't paying attention to this spectacle, and the look in Lizzie's eyes forbade me from moving. I was stuck in my seat, trying frantically to guess at her motives and what she was going to do next. Lizzie met Truman's stare with a look that seemed to be encouraging him, silently flirting with him. If it hadn't been Truman, I might've been impressed at the strength of her bedroom gaze, but as it was, I was tormented by the sight I was unable to look away from.

Truman's voice came straight to my ears, though it was barely a whisper. "You look hot." He said what we were all thinking, minus the part about her looking like Santa's ho-ho-ho, but it still made my blood boil. His unfocused gaze, his sloppy attire, every single obviously drunk thing about him conspired to make me a little more furious. How could Lizzie not notice? I knew what Truman saw in her. He saw what he wanted to see, and that was Casey. He must've been really drunk and really desperate to see a resemblance, that's all I can say. He took a step towards her, and Lizzie took a step or two back. Her expression, however, was absent of alarm, so I didn't get what she was playing at.

She seemed like she was leading him a bit. The look on her face was knowing, a bit sharp, even, like she knew exactly what she was doing and was fully in control. It was a look that scared me a bit. I'd never known her to be so calculating, to take such risks... but Lizzie had always been a daredevil, often leaping before she looked, so I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me too much. And, well, I figured that since Truman was obviously using Lizzie, it was only fair that she return the favor. It still made me physically ill to watch them dance around each other in a pathetic attempt to attract Derek's attention, but still.

Liz took another step back, and Truman followed her, charging forward with all the grace of an elephant. His eyes were half-lidded, a sleazy, self-satisfied grin appearing on his lips. I wanted to punch that expression right off his face and was hit with a wave of sympathy for Derek. How hard it must've been for him to suppress that similar desire. Truman glanced up, not Lizzie, and he was the one who noticed where they were positioned. He stood less than twenty centimeters away from her, practically on the landing, hands hovering in the charged air somewhere by her waist. I waited and stared with bated breath, saying nothing but wanting to say something, to scream to stop the trainwreck I was about to witness. I knew I wasn't allowed that privilege and that Liz would be none-too-happy with me if I attempted it (assuming, of course, that Truman would heed such a warning).

I also wanted to remind her just how much she hated him, but Liz was perfectly aware of that. She wouldn't do this deliberately to a guy she really respected or cared about, after all. Truman squinted and then slowly gestured at something slightly above Lizzie's head: the mistletoe Liz had hung directly over the staircase a few days ago. "Guess this means you have to kiss me," he murmured smugly, right into her ear. I saw the faintly repulsed look on her face, no doubt a result of feeling his hot, sweet, alcoholic breath on her face. He gave her the best charm smile he could muster, which still came off smarmy. Lizzie gave him an even smile, coy and secretive, somehow welcoming despite her disgust. I saw her lips move, so undoubtedly she said something to him, but whatever it was was too soft for me to hear. "Guess it does," maybe, in that flirty voice she used on hockey players and football studs and foot fairies?

Truman let out a low chuckle, eying her up and down before putting his hand on his neck and lunging forward. He pressed his lips against hers, and I watched the hunger take over him as he leaned into her heavily, placing his free hand on her waist. He took a half-step closer, and Lizzie backed up a bit, reflexively, until her heels hit the back of the stairs. Truman deepened the kiss, forcing her mouth open with his tongue, letting out a tiny groan of pleasure as he did it. My stomach turned. Liz was... not entirely impassive, but hardly as into it as Truman. Her posture practically breathed discomfort, but she began to become more relaxed.

Maybe she was horny and actually enjoyed making out with Truman (it _had_, after all, been a while). Truman was the closest she could get to Derek, and she knew that in her own way, so it was easy to pretend. Her eyes fell closed, and she gave in a little in a way that was terribly unlike her. I saw the determination, the expression of will in her face, though, so maybe it wasn't so easy to forget who she was really with. I was silently seething and hating it, hating watching Truman put his hands all over my little sister like they belonged there, and hating even more that I was the one who'd given her the idea in the first place. Truman's hand slid down off Lizzie's hip, finding the curve of her ass and resting there comfortably as if he owned it. He squeezed her ass just a little, cupping it and using it to push her closer to him. Liz had jumped just a fraction when he did this and wound up more or less on her tiptoes.

Surprisingly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and bringing their chests into full alignment so that Truman could feel her breasts heaving when she sucked in desperate gasps of air. Truman's hand smoothed over her ass, trailing slightly back down her leg, coming to rest on the back of her thigh, almost as if he wanted to lift her leg up. Then he took another step closer and pressed his probably aroused pelvis to hers. I caught a brief flash of discomfort on Lizzie's face, and then she began to rock her hips against his ever so slowly. I heard Truman's breath hitch, heard the wet noises when their lips separated, and I heard every pathetic little noise he uttered, every moan and gasp and gurgle and grunt. I could imagine almost exactly how it felt, and the accursed memory left me uncomfortably aroused.

I shifted a bit uncomfortably on the couch, but Derek didn't notice that either. His eyes were fixed on the game, as if they'd been glued there or attracted there somehow by a magnetic compulsion. His gaze was unwavering, rather like a trance, I thought. It felt like a nightmare, and I so desperately wanted to stop the travesty that was occurring before my very eyes... for my sake, for Lizzie's sake, even for poor, hangdog Truman who was being played. But I was impotent to stop it, bound by Lizzie's foolish yet iron-clad wishes.

Truman's hand fell from her neck to trace her collarbone, brushing against her impossible cleavage before finding its place on a velvet-covered breast. He stroked the fabric once or twice, jolting Liz into making some sort of noise. Then he openly palmed her breast, and I was torn between two urges: the urge to vomit and the urge to literally _tear _Truman's hand off of my sister. It was hard to fight both at the same time, especially when Lizzie let out a little keening sort of noise, almost like she was enjoying it (and maybe she was!). I clenched my fists tighter, and, suddenly, after another moan from Lizzie, this one loud and a bit theatrical (trying to attract Derek's attention, are we?), Derek looked over at them, as if to determine where the noise came from. His head whipped their direction so fast I'd have sworn he'd gotten whiplash from the motion. Had he recognized something in the sound, or was he just curious?

I watched as his eyes flashed something spectacular, something terrible, and he damn near leaped up from his seat. He stalked over to the two of them like a large cat, all teeth and hissing and feline grace. Then Derek pounced, grabbing the arm that rested on Lizzie's chest and reaching out for Truman's shoulder. An instant later, he was simultaneously throwing Truman's hand back at him and shoving him backwards with such a force that Truman fell backwards into the banister, arms wrapping around it to keep him somewhat unsteadily still on his feet. It looked a little like Derek had dislocated Truman's shoulder, actually. Derek then grabbed Lizzie's arm equally roughly, turning her around to face him and glowering darkly at Truman over his shoulder. He was practically breathing fire, my brother. "What the **hell** were you thinking? He's _five_ years older than you and your sister's ex! What is this, some new way to get at Casey?" Derek roared disbelievingly, utterly furious and barely able to master himself. I had never, in my entire life, seen Derek that angry, having lost his cool entirely.

Neither had Lizzie, which explained why she was trembling. It seemed obvious from a distance that Derek was gripping her arm hard enough to leave bruises, even if he didn't realize it yet. Nonetheless, underneath the fear, I recognized a kind of joy on Lizzie's face, a pure, thrilled emotion in her eyes, a certain radiance and hope that was blossoming there. Because Derek was furious, and he had intervened, so he did care. She muttered something, completely unlike her, that stuttering. "M-m-mistletoe," she said as an excuse, shrugging slightly. Derek just stared at her, eyes full of fury, and Lizzie's lip started to tremble a little, like she was on the verge of tears. It was the best she could do, and judging by Derek's expression, it still wasn't good enough. Derek let out a growl and slowly released her, more or less throwing her into his recliner. He snapped at me, motioning to the blanket on the couch, and I complied by grabbing the blanket, unfolding it, and throwing it over Lizzie with an arch look.

It was a good thing I did, since Truman was still leering at her unashamedly. Liz rolled her eyes at me, still on edge but rather pleased at the outcome. Then Derek spun around to round in on Truman with a positively thunderous look on his face. If I'd thought he was pissed before, I was surely mistaken. This anger seemed somehow to surpass his previous rage and become something else entirely, some combination of righteous indignation and hellfire. Derek advanced upon Truman, coming very close to pinning him against the flimsy railings. He smiled a grim little smile that wasn't really a smile at all. "Was it worth it, French? Those few seconds touching my sister? 'Cause it's never gonna happen again," Derek sneered. Truman merely smirked drunkenly, attempting to flaunt his triumph. He chanced a silly wave at Lizzie, and Derek shoved him, slamming him back into the railing. "Are you _listening_ to me, douchebag? 'Cause I have a few choice words for you..." Derek continued menacingly, his grin becoming razor thin and sharp, cutting even.

His eyes narrowed. They were almost black. He shoved Truman again, disgust manifest in his features. He looked like I felt, only I was sure I was downright green. "She's only _seventeen_, you asshole! I **know** you're still in love with Casey, but using her _sister_ to replace her is just low! Not just low, actually, it's _pathetic_ and repulsive, and Lizzie deserves better than that," Derek spat, getting in Truman's face. He brought a finger up, shaking it like a promise. "And so help me God, if you ever, **ever** go near her... or any of my sisters," he added as a bit of an afterthought, "_ever_ again, I will skin you alive and put your head on Thompson's flagpole." He paused for a moment to let the threat sink in, and we all watched as horror bloomed across Truman's face. Derek grinned wickedly, the malicious glint in his eyes proving his intent. He was just looking for an excuse, it seemed. "Are we clear, French?"

There was something in Truman's eyes that sort of implored to Derek, silently saying that she looked strikingly like Casey, and could you really blame him for that? Truman nodded weakly, swallowing hard. "Crystal, Derek," he said with a grimace, seeming suddenly a lot more sober. Then he turned around to look at me, avoiding even the sight of Lizzie. Truman muttered something about going to the bathroom and something a little whiny about Derek telling his siblings to get off his bed.

As soon as Truman had disappeared from view, Derek whirled to focus on me. "And _you_, bro, why the hell didn't you stop it? Why'd you just **sit** there like a bump on a log and let her _hurt_ you like that? She obviously just let him do that because he looks like _you_!" Derek shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. I cringed a little, wondering what Lizzie was going to think about all of this. Knowing her, she'd either use what Derek said to embarrass me forever or ignore it in favor of something she actually wants to hear.

I did something stupid then. I could literally feel waves of anger radiating off of Derek like uranium or plutonium reaching lower states. His face was uncharacteristically red, his eyes blazing at me. I hadn't looked at Lizzie, but she'd apparently made herself as small as possible, curling up under the blanket and watching the two of us blankly. I rolled my eyes at him, at this beast. Derek didn't understand the first thing about me and Lizzie, and him pretending he was some kind of expert pissed me off. "Yeah, me. Right. _I'm_ the reason," I muttered sarcastically. No girl gets that worked up over me, not even Tanya.

Derek glared at me so fiercely that a lesser man than myself might've quivered. I merely stared him down, nonplussed. He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in closer to me, trying to intimidate me or some such. I really wasn't in the mood to put up with him and his nonsensical mood-swings. "You're so goddamned blind and so, _so_ wrong, Derek. It's staggering," I spat, just as disgusted with him as I'd been with Lizzie. It made me sick how he couldn't see what was right in front of his eyes and was trying to shunt it off to me. Derek frowned, and I could sense an argument brewing, if I let it.

Miraculously, however, Derek swallowed hard and turned his steely face to glare at Lizzie. "You let that asshole paw you," Derek commented seemingly blithely, crossing his arms over his chest. One could still hear the anger crackling beneath his words like lightning. The look on his face was a mixture of disappointment and disgust. The way he put it, he was almost daring her to challenge him. "How could you _do_ that?"

Lizzie's cheeks flushed, though I couldn't determine whether they'd taken on a red hue from shame or embarrassment. "Yeah, _so_?" she retorted so immaturely that she sounded like Marti. Derek rolled his eyes, forgetting, of course, as we often do, that Lizzie is a teenager. "What right do you have to comment on it? What right did you have to step between us and break it up? What I do... is _none_ of your business!" she interjected angrily, crossing her arms over her chest with displeasure. I cocked my head, regarding her carefully in an attempt to figure out whether or not her anger was genuine. She could, after all, just be pushing Derek. "It was my choice, Derek, and I'm not some little princess who needs to be rescued! I can handle guys like Truman on my own," she continued firmly. The word "princess" popped off her tongue, heavy with disdain.

He didn't take it for the Casey reference that it was. However, he did make a face at Lizzie. She hadn't quite been clear enough as to whether or not Truman's advances had been welcomed or merely tolerated. I don't suppose Derek had seen enough to know one way or the other. "How could you let him do something like that to you, Lizzie? The way he was touching you... it made me _sick_!" Derek demanded disbelievingly, equal parts disgust and disappointment once again. Lizzie was positively flush with joy. The sick feeling in my stomach didn't go away. "He's drunk, and it was disgusting... and I wasn't about to sit by and let him take advantage of you!" Derek continued, making no effort to keep his voice down.

Lizzie was hanging on his every word, hands clasped together, eyes seeing nothing but him. Not for the first time, I felt that I didn't belong in this family, that I wasn't all caught up in everybody else like they were. I found myself wishing they hadn't involved me in this mess. "What kind of brother would I be if I just sat there and let him feel you up?" Derek quipped, fixing me with a stern, pointed look. I cocked a brow, silently challenging him and knowing that Lizzie would resent such an intrusion in her personal life. She almost never appreciated it when I intervened, and she'd gotten even more touchy when it came to my brother. "You're my sister, Liz, and I want better for you than... _that_," he muttered with revulsion, eying Truman, who was standing awkwardly on the landing watching us.

Lizzie was beaming up at him, somewhat disbelieving of her luck but still radiant, thinking Derek jealous. For some reason, that smile of triumph made me even more nauseous. Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair and attempting to calm down some. He pulled his hand away from his eyes and simply stared down at Lizzie, looking very disappointed. He was silent for a moment, debating whether or not to say something more. When he did speak, it was in a low, almost soothing tone that Truman couldn't hear. "Look, Lizzie, I really don't want to have to ask you this... but, well, the way you were talking about things makes me wonder," he began, sitting down next to me so that he could be close to Lizzie.

He looked ridiculously uncomfortable, almost hesitant, the way he did whenever Marti mentioned a boy. It was that I-don't-really-want-to-know-but-I-have-to-because-I'm-your-big-brother-and-need-to-take-care-of-you look. Lizzie didn't entirely notice this, of course, since she was caught up in her fantasies, in raptures at the fact that Derek was turned into her, that his arm was brushing hers, and so on. If she was smart, she'd be relishing the uncomfortable look on Derek's face, the fact that it meant he was forced to see her in a different light. Derek swallowed hard and continued. "Did you want Truman to kiss you?" His eyes cut over to mine, and I saw the question he wasn't going to ask written there: _did you like it?_

I swallowed down bile, hot and salty, wincing at the acrid taste. It then hit me, what Derek's look meant. He thought the guy I was talking about, the one I'd told him Lizzie was in love with, he actually thought that guy was Truman! And I can see why he'd think that and can't really blame him, given that he caught her making out with him, and Liz didn't exactly make it sound like she wanted him to stop her. Only a trained observer could sense her repulsion or the way the act wore thin. "Is there something going on between the two of you that I need to know about?" He lowered his voice still further, leaning in closer, failing to see that Lizzie had leaned in too. "Do you have feelings for Truman?"

Lizzie's eyes widened, but she managed to keep her jaw from gaping open. Her stunned eyes immediately found mine, as if trying to ask me why I didn't seem surprised at all that Derek had asked her that. It was kind of comical, actually, with the face she made and the way that she choked on air whenever she tried to say anything to negate the question. Now, how Derek took that, I honestly have no idea, since I could only see half of his face, but I was sort of worried he'd been fooled into thinking Lizzie was attracted to Truman or head over heels for him or something. The two sisters had liked the same guy before, so it wasn't so inconceivable... Derek cleared his throat, placing his hand firmly on her shoulder. Lizzie perked up like a wilting flower after being watered. "'Cause I'm gonna tell you right now, and I can't stress this enough... It's a bad idea," Derek said clearly, raising his brows as if daring Lizzie to make some sort of statement to the contrary, probably trying to hedge the feelings he thought she harbored for that moron.

"I know," Lizzie murmured, pulling a shocked Derek into an embrace and burying her face in his shoulder. If I'd been able to see her face, I would've rolled my eyes at her. As it was, I wound up rolling my eyes at her ridiculous excuse to touch my brother. "I don't know what came over me," she continued, spinning some yarn in a whisper about being vulnerable and susceptible and it being a very long time since she'd dated anyone... leaving out, of course, how she'd encouraged and more or less invited Truman's attentions. But why would Derek question it, after all, since he hadn't paying attention before Truman's tongue was halfway down Lizzie's esophagus? Unlike me, who'd been forced to watch from the beginning and consigned to do nothing about it, no matter how completely it disgusted me.

Shaking my head at my still-embracing siblings (Derek seemed distinctly uncomfortable and was awkwardly patting her back, and Lizzie was clinging to him fiercely and, of course, unwilling to let go), I decided it was time for me to leave and hopefully regain some sanity. I had decided that maybe dinner and the stress and trauma I'd just endured had given me some sort of illness, so I started to get up with the intention of acquiring some Tums or Pepto-Bismol. Liz nodded contritely, gazing dreamily into Derek's eyes, and I got up before I actually vomited. We could discuss this later in my room when I was feeling less nauseous. Derek wasn't exactly going to let me go, but I couldn't stand there and listen to that crap anymore.

I heard Derek behind me, instructing Lizzie. "Since you apparently can't be trusted with Truman in the house, I'm going to have to watch you," he said with all the weariness of a seasoned babysitter. He almost did the finger-eye thing. I could sense how thrilled Lizzie was at the prospect of spending more time with Derek and having him watch her every move. In theory this should make him easier to seduce, except for the whole babysitting angle. I fought the urge to roll my eyes again, forcibly reminding myself that bringing up Derek and the lengths she would go to to secure his affections was never a good idea.

I brushed past Truman, glowering at him like I wanted to strangle him, and headed straight for my bedroom, intent on avoiding an unpleasant conversation with Derek. It would be painful enough just walking on eggshells around Lizzie later on. I shook my head, heading into my bedroom and starting to change clothes. A few hours ago, if you'd asked me if I thought Lizzie would or could ever kiss Truman French, I'd have laughed my ass off and said it would never, ever happen... but now it had, and I couldn't really believe it. What could I even say to Lizzie?

I had my shirt halfway over my head when Lizzie barged into my bedroom, startling me. I nearly fell over and was stuck with my shirt more or less over my face. "Look, Ed, before you jump down my throat, I'm sorry you had to see that," she apologized in a rush. I raised my neck and peered over the hem of my shirt to look at her. Her eyes seemed contrite enough. She was standing closer than I realized, closer than I wanted her to be. As I struggled to pull off my shirt with her watching me, I caught a glimpse of her staring at my chest absolutely unashamedly. It made my face feel hot, half with anger and half with something I couldn't quite place, some other sort of gut feeling.

It wouldn't have been very effective trying to make a comeback to that with my shirt around my arms, so I managed to free myself and picked up the shirt I intended to change into, leveling her with my gaze. Liz flinched under my stare. "Why are you apologizing to me, Lizzie? You should be apologizing to _yourself_!" I rejoined irritably, unable to keep the annoyance and vague disgust from my voice. Lizzie cringed and looked down, cheeks faintly pink with embarrassment. She heaved out a sigh, holding her forehead.

"I know it was stupid, Ed, believe me..." she began, peering up at me hesitantly. The look in her eyes said she knew just how stupid and desperate it had been, but I still felt like something was eluding her, some realization of how stupid her actions were and how beneath her Truman was. Her voice was weary and deeper than it ought to have been, but with a bit of an edge. She was on the verge of being very cross with me. She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, and I forced myself to look away from that pink tongue and that spot reddened by her teeth. "-But I was only taking your advice," she continued a bit defensively. Her lips were swollen from Truman's kiss, and my stomach roiled from it.

Trying to hold it together and to prevent from vomiting all over her feet, I clenched my jaw. "I _know_, and that's what makes it worse!" I shouted, wanting nothing more than to strike something. So Lizzie had connected the dots then, and this really was all my fault for encouraging this ceaseless stupidity. "I've got no one to blame but myself..." I brooded. Then again, however, that wasn't exactly true. I hadn't exactly spelled it out for her, after all, and I hadn't held a gun to her head and forced her to do it. Kissing Truman had been her own moronic choice, even if it was my idiotic suggestion. I turned my back on her, pulling the new shirt over my head without a fuss.

"It's just, you hate, **hate** everything about Truman. And you know why he more or less attacked you, don't you?" I said slowly, wanting to express something beyond those mere words. The words failed me, however, same as they failed to impress upon Lizzie the seriousness of the gesture. It seemed like I was always failing nowadays. I wanted her to know that I was disappointed in her because she can do so much better, that I expected better things out of her, that it made me ill to think she'd really gotten that desperate and had sunken to that length in her fruitless quest for my brother's affection and attention. I wanted to say all that and so much more, but it wasn't what came out at all.

She rolled her eyes at me as I turned around, arms pushing up that impossible cleavage. I swallowed, hard, but Lizzie didn't notice. I didn't know whether to curse or be grateful for this nearly-deliberate obliviousness. "Of course I know! I look like Casey. I'm wearing her blue flirty eyeshadow and her favorite lip-gloss. And we share like fifty-percent of the same DNA. I get it," she stated, nonplussed, gesturing to her face. I was, actually, rather surprised she hadn't borrowed the outfit from Casey, but I don't suppose Casey would own anything quite so risqué (plus both Derek and Truman would've reacted then, right?). Funny, though, I hadn't noticed the blue sparkly eyeshadow that was Casey's way of beguiling a man. Nonetheless, I didn't think she looked particularly like her sister. In fact, I've always thought the resemblance between sisters was less than my resemblance to Derek, despite their similar coloring.

Lizzie huffed, hopping onto the bed. The nightie rode up her knees faintly, and she failed to cross her legs, so I was forced to look away like she was a Gorgon or a basilisk. And Dear God, I am using mythological and nonscientific means of comparison here, which means this whole thing has really gotten me more discombobulated than I'm willing to admit, and that's a frightening thought, almost as terrifying as a dragon and a... what is wrong with me, seriously? A resurrected dinosaur would be equally, if not more terrifying than a mythical fire-breathing creature. "If it makes you feel any better, Edwin, I almost threw up when he put his hands all over me..." she said with an all-too cheery, slightly disgusted smile. There was that determined look in her eyes again. That look will be my undoing. If I go insane shortly, it will be because of that particular expression and what it means. "But I had to do it."

I couldn't help it; I sneered reflexively. Sure you did, Liz. "For _Der_-ek," I snarled mockingly, narrowing my eyes mid-taunt. I sought to find things to keep my hands busy, since that seemed to work for Casey and also seemed to prevent her from strangling my brother. It didn't work so well for me.

Lizzie made a face at me, balling up my shirt and throwing it at me. "Don't be like that, Edwin," she said sternly, her voice a warning. As usual, my brother is a sensitive topic between us. And maybe there was just a touch too much bitterness and disgust in my tone. She frowned, looking at me funny out of the corner of her eye. "You get all _weird_ whenever you bring Derek up." She paused a moment before saying it. "Like you're jealous or something."

The memory of the last time she'd accused me of being jealous of Derek came back to me painfully, and this reminder felt like a smack in the face. So I may have gotten a bit more enraged than usual. My hands involuntarily clenched into fists at my sides. "I'm not EFFING _jealous_ of Derek!" I snapped a bit more intently than I meant, feeling my whole being shaking and vibrating with negative electrons. Lizzie jumped, surprised at the force of my outburst. I took a deep breath and attempted to calm down, but all it did was take the venom and defensiveness out of my voice. "Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because you're my sister and he's my brother? And you're not _supposed_ to be in love with him!" I retorted in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

Liz scowled, and I let my eyes run over her in an attempt to make her uncomfortable while I tried to catch my breath, which had sped up for some reason or another. "And I don't know about that, Liz... I know you were putting on a good show for me and my brother, but you _did_ seem to be enjoying it a bit more than all that. He's a nice placeholder, isn't he?" I taunted, waggling my eyebrows suggestively. I wasn't the first one who'd made the comparison, after all. I wondered if Derek had ever said something like that in front of Casey, and if maybe that was the reason why everything had gone to the end of the parabola all of a sudden.

The scowl deepened, and a vaguely affronted look crossed her face. "Shut up, Edwin. You know better than that," she hissed, glaring daggers at me. She shook her head, leaning back onto the bed, forcing a calm she probably didn't feel. I knew I was pushing her, but, to be honest, I felt maybe it was the time to push a little, to stop walking on eggshells and getting stomped on. "Comparing Truman and Derek is like comparing apples and oranges. He just doesn't measure up."

"Oh, really?" I cocked a brow at that, stepping forward (I was actually rather surprised she hadn't physically shoved me or anything). I took a few more steps closer, invading her personal space so she'd have to look up at me. She tensed and did so. "'Cause you were rubbing up against him like a cat in heat and... It sure looked like you were enjoying it," I jeered, uncrossing my arms slowly. I paused, cocking my head at her and plastering a curious yet contemplative look on my face. "How do you think Casey would feel about that, if she knew?" I drawled, close enough to almost be intimidating to her. I saw the look in Lizzie's eyes change then and become sort of, almost wounded, really. "'Cause I can guarantee she wouldn't be happy. And she's already in a pretty fragile emotional state. I'd hate to push her over the edge," I continued a bit threateningly, so close to her now that our noses were less than five centimeters from touching.

Her eyes flashed with a mixture of fury, guilt, and maybe some cousin of fear. I smirked at her, almost waiting for her to say something, but Lizzie just sat there, stiff as a board with her arms crossed over her chest protectively, an utterly blank look on her face. I narrowed my eyes and started to lean into her. I turned my head to the side so I could whisper in her ear. "So tell me, Liz, is Truman... is your sister's ex-fiancé a good kisser?" She could feel my hot breath on her neck and almost shivered a little. Silence. I allowed this question I didn't want the answer to to sink for a moment before continuing. Our bodies were now touching in every relevant and physically possible area. My knees held against hers, my legs brushed against hers, part of my torso bent down to her level, pressing against her breasts ever so carefully. My arms were on the bed on either side of her, half pinning her in, my forearms touching hers. My cheek rested on hers, my lips about two centimeters from her earlobe. "Think he'd be a good lay too?" I murmured sharply, half-demanding. I said it so that my lips brushed against her face with each and _every_ word, her cheek, her ear, her hair, her chin, close to her lips but not quite there.

She had been in some sort of trance, more or less frozen and held there in place by my body, but practically the moment after I said them, Lizzie shoved me away so hard and lightning fast I nearly fell over. "Go to _Hell_, Edwin," she spat, eyes sparking blue lightning. She was a fearsome creature, and she looked like she wanted to punch me or more severely injure me. I was a little off-balance but not particularly afraid, especially since the look in her eyes said I'd gotten to her. She exhaled deeply, trying to erase the offended look from her features, trying to steady herself. Her hands were sort of shaking, which was a sign that she was agitated and half of her wanted to hit something. "I wasn't going to _**screw**_ him, Ed-win. I don't like him, and I'm not proud of it..." She sighed, not looking at me. "But this was _your_ idea in the first place, and you didn't stop me."

I gaped at her. What? When did I have the right to stop her? When in that whole thing had she acknowledged me? If I had stopped her, we'd still be having this stupid fight, and Derek would've just thought that I was in love with her, as per usual. All of which would help no one. "I _get_ that you want my brother, Liz, really, I do. But I really don't like the things you're willing to do to land him. It's desperate, and that is not you," I said intently, putting my hands on her shoulders and trying to make her look at me. She squirmed away from my grip, glaring at me briefly but otherwise avoiding eye-contact. I wanted to shake her and barely managed to refrain. "And, honestly, I _know_ my brother, and I'm telling you now: it's a _lost_ cause. How many times do I have to say it?" I was trying and failing not to raise my voice.

Liz stiffened, turning away from me as much as the position allowed. "I don't care if that pisses you off or hurts you... It's the truth," I persisted, wanting nothing more than to make her see. She just curled up into an insular little ball. I paused for a moment to suck in a breath. "I mean, do you _really_ think Derek saw you any differently? 'Cause I don't," I added a moment later, watching her for any sign of a reaction.

She threw me a sharp look, crossing her arms over her chest irritably. "Look, Ed, I can't go back and undo it to suit your stupid little puritan sensibilities, okay? You know I'd do it again if I had to. And since I can't go back in time, why bother arguing about it? Or thinking about it? What the hell are we even arguing about?" she growled. As she spoke, her words came faster and faster. She flung them at me like searing bolts of lightning. She made a face at me, turning to face me directly. "God, Edwin, what the _hell_ do you want me to do? Make-out with **you **instead?" she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. I winced at the snideness in her voice and at the current that went through me at her suggestion. Her mere suggestion. I am seriously losing it. "You have Sylvia for that now... so stay out of my business."

I was kind of thrown by this sudden switch-up. She'd gone from unrepentantly saying she'd make out with Truman again if she had to in order to accomplish her aims to accusing me indirectly of being jealous and then negating my supposed reason for being jealous since I apparently had Sylvia to make out with now and for that reason ought to mind my own business since I apparently have plenty on my hands. It bothered me a little too because I heard some kind of resentment in her voice when she'd mentioned her and then a sort of threat at the end, that, coupled with the violent flashing of her eyes, was akin to dipping me in liquid nitrogen. Minus the solidness of a death by deep freeze.

That didn't stop me from replying, of course, since Lizzie had always made my business her business. Besides, she's made her business and her life mine more times than I can count this year. Her little comment about making out with me should've made that crystal clear to her. I stared her down, utterly nonplussed. "Your business _is_ my business, Lizzie. Like it or not. Especially when it involves _our_ family." Did she not realize just how interconnected our lives really were? A fact that, as of lately, continually serves to amaze me. I'm sure Paul would say it isn't healthy and try and call us codependent or something. He'd probably be more right about that than I'd like to acknowledge, which is why I have not and will not call him.

We can't be separated that easily, and if we are apart for a bit, we just kind of snap back into place over time, like a rubber band. "Oh my God! Can you just **shut** up already?" she screeched, violently flinging her hands into the air and seeming to suppress a scream. It was a voice born of her deepest frustration. She fell back on my bed, pausing to calm down a bit, playing with her hair. "I got it bad enough from Derek earlier."

I snorted. Seriously? She'd practically gotten a slap on the wrist. It wasn't my brother's place to discipline her or to attempt to make her see sense. No, that unfortunate title was my responsibility, especially as neither of our parents (or Casey, for that matter) had been there to witness it or do anything about it. I shook my head abruptly, nostrils flaring of their own accord (and not because from this vantage point I could practically see down her shirt, although I could). "No!" I roared, grabbing her wrists. "I don't think you realize how _serious_ kissing Truman and letting him _grope_ you was, Liz." I threw all the disdain I had into that one disgusting word.

For a moment I hesitated, not sure what to do now that I'd half-pulled Lizzie up, and she was staring at me, utterly bewildered. "And I'm not stopping until you do! There are consequences, okay?" I found myself shaking her a little. I wasn't really thinking at all; I just had to make her see, and Lizzie understood force. "And you didn't give them a single thought during that whole little make-out session. He was engaged to your sister, your _best _friend in the world, okay? Casey's discombobulated enough with him here... much less hearing that her sister made out with her ex behind her back? That's _really_ not what she needs to hear, and if Derek was smart, he'd tell Casey that too rather than cover your ass," I retorted, trying to drive home how her stupid action could seriously derail her sister in a fragile emotional state. I'm pretty sure you just don't kiss your sister's fiancé, um, _ever_, at least, if you're a **good** sister.

Liz turned the tables on me and pushed me off of her and down on the bed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, asshat!" she snarled, throwing all her weight down on me. Then, out of the middle of nowhere, Lizzie leaned down and ferociously kissed me. I was too stunned to do anything other than just kind of lay there, disbelieving. She's mad at me so why is she... She pulled away for a breath, managing to gasp as I feebly tried to utter something, "For the last time, shut _up_!" And then she kissed me again, wetly, leaning down onto me, tongue finding mine within moments. She'd grabbed my hair roughly and was sort of pulling on it to get my head at the right angle, I guess (in a daze, I'd somehow wound up making out with her).

Her thighs were on either side of me, but I didn't notice that until my hands were halfway up them and I realized how high the nightie had ridden up and I caught a glimpse of entirely too sexy matching underwear. She rocked her hips against mine then, just slightly but enough to make me shudder faintly and have a raging hard-on that I was immediately very ashamed of for some reason. And then, when I was sucking on Lizzie's bottom lip, I remembered why this was so wrong. She slid her pelvis against mine, dragged it this time across me very slowly, deliberately so. And that really woke me up because I remembered that she'd made out with Truman maybe twenty minutes ago, and I felt dirty all over. So my hands found their way to her waist, and I lightly pushed her away with my palms.

Surprisingly, though it got her off of me as I wished, it also resulted in her falling off the bed and onto her ass on the floor. It was quite humorous, actually. She gaped, staring up at me affronted and half-furious, probably all the more so because I was laughing at her. I hadn't expected her to fall and land flat on her ass, but apparently I underestimated my own strength. I wiped my lips furiously, repulsed by the sudden awareness that she'd gone from making out with Truman to making out with me in under thirty minutes, and at the fact that I could very well have Truman's DNA all over my lips (dead skin cells and saliva and a microscope only knows what else, given that he's dating a slore like Vicky), which disgusted me beyond measure, causing that wretched nausea to return.

"What the hell was that for?" Lizzie sniped, rising to her feet and brushing herself off. She did this in such a way that I once again got one too many flashes of her cleavage and underwear. It was truly maddening. She shoved me and flounced back down onto the bed as if nothing had happened, rolling on her side and leaning over to regard me a bit irritably.

I scowled at her, rubbing my shoulder awkwardly. I managed a sort of shrug. "You can't just go around kissing everyone, Lizzie," I said in a voice so matter-of-fact that it surprised me. Lizzie laughed in spite of herself, but I hadn't finished speaking yet. By that point, I was hardly exactly conscious of what I was saying, only that I was pissed at her and completely furious with myself, that I felt like I was losing control (and, undoubtedly, I was), and I needed to get her away from me, to push her as far away from me as I could. "Don't _molest_ me because I'm here and you're horny. If it's really that bad, you can go "play" with yourself," I spat mockingly. It came out bitter and poisonous like white oleander.

She didn't actually realize the depth of my resentment because, well, that was the first time I'd ever made a big deal out of it, I guess. If she had, she might not have snorted. "Oh, you mean like you, Ed? That hard-up you have to-" she interjected a bit meanly, reaching for me, eyes firmly below the belt.

I grabbed her hand before she could make contact with any of the stingingly stimulated (disturbingly so) body parts that were screaming out for even the slightest touch. My grip was harder than usual, faster too, and neither of us were really expecting that. I gave her a challenging look. "You really don't want to finish that sentence, Liz," I gritted out from between my teeth.

She gave me a skeptical glance for a moment but ultimately said nothing, choosing instead to jerk her wrist out of my hands, slapping my hands lightly. She cleared her throat and straightened some, suddenly a bit prim and embarrassed, flushed like her sister. Her response was cagey and... absolutely the worst thing I could've heard at that particular moment. "Well, even if I... did that sort of thing... It's not like I have a moment of privacy in this damn house, and I'm not gonna do something like that with you in the room," she retorted, crossing an arm over her chest uncomfortably, glancing away. A flash of unwanted and terribly vivid images assaulted my brain just then, of Lizzie lying back on her bed, nightie over her hips, hand right between her-

I bit down hard on my bottom lip, hit by the sudden thought that maybe that asshole Brent was entirely right about me after all. God, I wanted to bone my sister, to bend her over and touch her right the... What the _hell_ is wrong with me? Seriously. I need to find some sort of help website for this, or therapy or something. Lizzie's cheeks were still red, and her lips were so tempting, so red and full and... all that creamy, soft skin, smooth and so sweet... And Einstein help me, then I was picturing her with her head thrown back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted, back arched... and then I was _remembering_, oh, how sweet it was... My clothes were beginning to chafe and cut off the circulation in some very important areas.

"Hasn't stopped either of us before," I countered, trying to keep my eyes open even as these distressing and vivid visions were flashing across my eyes like a pornographic film. My voice was a few octaves lower than it ought to have been, thick and husky with memory and a desire that pained me in so many little exquisite pinpricking ways. I accompanied the phrase with a very-Derek-like lazy half-smile. I wanted to slap my hand over my mouth as soon as I'd been stupid enough to say that, even though it was just the two of us here. Liz' face was absolutely stony, faintly white and red now, like marble. I was treading on paper-thin ice, and I knew it. We _never_ talked about that for a reason.

I can't tell you why. Maybe neither of us wanted to acknowledge it because, well, we'd both sort of freaked out afterward. That it was too much too fast or too... something... for either of us to really handle. And it really was, it completely was. Neither of us were ready for that sort of thing, and we both knew it was getting out of hand... And, hell, didn't I know it was going to draw to a close eventually? I could feel it all ending. It could either go the way it did or... in the complete opposite direction. Honestly, it wasn't something I thought either of us thought about much. At least, I didn't _used_ to think about things like that... but I felt somehow worse for thinking about this singular occurrence where it was so... completely out of left field and out of control and... It just scared the hell out of us once we knew what had just happened, and it hit us kind of like a freight train afterwards... and we both knew how far it could go, how much further still and...

And acknowledging that it happened meant we'd have to _talk_ about it and figure it out and sort through some things, and wasn't that one of the multitude of reasons why Lizzie and I had never had a proper talk about that thing that summer? Why, even now, when we referred to it, we spoke of the entire thing in almost coded language when no one was around to hear it, our dirty little secret? Talking about things, facing them, dealing with them... it's just not the way things are _done _here, in this house, in this family. And maybe none of us really want to know what these things mean because, I don't know, it's somehow safer that way. See, I can't even explain all of it, but I knew I'd just majorly crossed a line, an uncrossable, irreplaceable, eternal line in the sand. A line that was very important to the maintenance of our current relationship and holding everything together into neat little boxes.

Liz just stared at me for the longest time, unable to believe I'd just said that, utterly silent with fury. Something about her was trembling, though, very finely. She tugged at her dress, simultaneously pulling it down and up to try and cover more. It would've been comical if I wasn't so mortified at hearing myself say that and relieved at the fact that she hadn't brought up my obvious state of arousal (had she not noticed?). She rose quickly, almost shooting off the bed. "Fine, I'll just go sleep with _Derek," _she said pointedly. "Since, you know, the _couch_ isn't an option." Her eyes flickered with something that might've been lust or malice. "I'll tell him I had a nightmare."

It kind of felt like, with the way she had her eyes on me, she was saying it like that to hurt me or something. Except all I was feeling was disgust, a fair measure of pity, and that ever-present rage. I didn't exactly want Lizzie in the bedroom with me, and I guess she'd gotten that... but the house was so small and the options so few that there really weren't any other choices except possibly her sleeping outside in a tent or on my couch. I grabbed her wrist once again without thinking, yanking her back over to the bed. "Don't you effing dare." My voice was gruff, lower than usual, almost a growl. I watched the victory infuse her features and hated her with a white-hot passion for a moment before hesitantly releasing her wrist, throwing myself back on the bed and letting out a sigh. "You're _insufferable_, you know that, right?"

Liz chuckled indulgently and climbed over me like I was some sort of jungle gym. I felt like a goddamn doormat at that very moment and sort of hated myself for it, for not being strong enough to do what was necessary. "Come on, Ed, you'd hardly tolerate me if I wasn't," she said dryly. "We're a little too alike for that." She paused a moment, flicking the lights off. "Now, shut up and go to bed before I decide to make out with someone else and get mad at you all over again."

It wasn't an empty threat. I turned away from her and her bright eyes and laughing voice, and I hated myself anew. Because every single pore, every fiber of my being, was screaming that I was still inexplicably furious—though at what: Lizzie, Truman, Derek, myself, or some other debility, I knew not. And once again, there was no outlet, and I just effing _knew_ I'd be up all night running these thoughts through my head like some kind of human calculator or ENIAC. And, oh, Lavoisier, the memories!

- Loren ;*

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed that. Oh, and feel free to let me know if you ever have any questions about the science references (although, as you can see, poor Edwin's getting away from that a bit now...). Oh, and here's a little dialogue clip from Christmas Eve, Part II (unfortunately it's not quite as exciting or enigmatic as the last one, and there's a little less of Casey's fire in here, but alas):

"Now, Casey, did I _say_ I was asking? Did I _sound_ like I was asking? That wasn't a question, Princess."

"I don't care because, last I checked, you have no hold over me! I don't have to listen to a word you say!"

"You don't have to, but I can make you... I'm not asking nicely anymore. I'm **not** asking, Casey. Period." (beat) "And, really, Case, what makes you think you have a choice in the matter anyway?"

"And what makes you so sure you'll succeed? Your will?" (she laughs) "The world doesn't revolve around you and your childish desires anymore, Venturi!"

So... thoughts? ;) Are you as pumped as I am?


	24. Friction

Several notes about this chapter (I apologize about the length of this, but I'm not sure many of you read them, so...): 1. I was actually gonna wait and post this chapter after I got back from break, but I decided to bring my computer along, so here it is. You're welcome. ;) 2. This chapter comprises the **first** part of Christmas Eve. **The Derek/Casey showdown is _next_ chapter** (and it's so _delicious_), but this is where things begin to heat up. The next chapter is approximately the same length as this one, maybe a bit shorter. 3. And, yeah, so this chapter is so effing long because it's chock full of disasters and disaster management and annoying family members and Derek/Casey showdowns (whether they're of the direct or the proxy kind)... and, actually, a bit of drama with Edwin himself that kind of flared up unexpectedly. I apologize if you have a problem with the length. I contemplated dividing it into another chapter, but it just didn't feel right to break up the flow. Or, eh, maybe that's an excuse, but I do rather like it the way it is, as overwhelming as it is. That's what this story needs, a bit of overwhelmingness. ;) And that's what family is really like, you know? It overwhelms you.

And, unfortunately, the holiday chapters have a LOT of people in them, which makes me unable to adequately focus on/describe all of them, but I'm doing my best here. So I apologize if I don't pay enough attention to the one character you like/love/would like to see more of. You do get to see a bit more of the Venturis than the McDonalds in this chapter, for instance. That being said, the actual family members will be given priority: i.e. Ed (obviously), Liz, Derek, Casey (albeit to a slightly lesser extent), and even Marti, Sebastian, and the 'rents. Also, just so we're clear, 'cause I feel like this can get a little confusing... George, Nora, Sebastian, Lizzie, Edwin, Marti, Derek, Casey, Noel, Sergei, Cousin Victoria, Truman, Grandma Felicia, and Great Aunt Madge are all staying in the house. Victoria and Truman are gone a lot because they know they're unwanted and everyone thinks it's best if they're out of the house as much as possible, so they tend to come back late at night and spend time with one of their families. Speaking of which, Aunt Fiona and Uncle Harry are staying at Derek's place, which is maybe fifteen minutes away (I think). Now, the rest of the family either stops by for Christmas Eve or Christmas itself. Those who attend Christmas Eve dinner include: George, Nora, Sebastian, Lizzie, Edwin, Marti, Derek, Casey, Sergei, Grandma Felicia, Great Aunt Madge, and... Robbie Venturi, George's younger brother, along with his (second) wife, Shanda, and his sons, Lucas, Robbie Jr., and Matt. Also attending dinner is Aunt Belinda (who was, like Uncle Robbie, mentioned in the episodes), Nora's older sister, Uncle Bill (Belinda's husband), and four of their six children: Agnes, Keira, Kelley, and Logan. Their other two children are Maureen and Erin, whom you will probably meet later.

Sadly, surprisingly, I don't own Life with Derek or the vast majority of characters within this story. Except Sergei and Oksana, them I own, and also Robbie's wife and kids as well as Belinda's husband and kids. And the aunts (the McDonald aunts), when they show up. Also, in this chapter, I don't even own part of the plot since the little play the kids put on is mostly taken directly from the Christmas episode and also a bit from How I Met Your Stepbrother. So it's more of a dialogue-spoiler than a plot-action spoiler or whatever, I dunno. And the plot, of course, that I own, 'cause, well, it's hard to make this stuff up.

Also, Shanda is not pronounced Shann-duh, but rather Shaun-duh. Mostly because the second one sounds better and a bit more pretentious since it's spelled Shanda (though technically it's a long A, so whatever).

Also, if anyone didn't get quite vivid enough of a picture of what Liz was wearing in the last chapter, here are some sort of similar get-ups (just, you know, remove the spaces and all): http: /www. halloweenexpress. com /mrs-claus-costu , http:/ www. Halloweenexpress. com/mrs .

Um, let's see... Also, just in case anyone can't picture the look when Derek's face is falling at, well, I think you'll know which point... But just in case you can't picture it, it's literally the same expression as the one you see in all the Dasey videos from the Battle of the Bands episode where Derek's trying to get Casey to sing and she turns him down or whatever. Yes, I watched many of them in preparation for the next chapter.

Also, I'm really sorry if the Christmas Eve dinner has weird food at it... But Christmas Eve in my house has always been kind of different than it is at other peoples', due to our own peculiar family traditions. Such as inviting guests and Dad never being around for dinner and sometimes eating dinner after church... So I think ham is most often served, but I feel fairly certain my mom's made other food... and I don't remember ever having stuffing... *shrugs* So I dunno. I think she usually makes something with sweet potatoes and maybe some sort of casserole and bread pudding with ice cream and there's always some sort of salad that she tries to put fruit and nuts in, but I dunno. It changes, I guess. So that might explain why I have no idea what people are supposed to eat on Christmas Eve. Also, they're Canadian, so a bit of it reflects that, and, because of the lovely Oksana, a bit of it reflects her Ukrainian traditions. And my _love_ of Ukrainian food.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter despite everything, and that it'll hold you over for a while until I can post the next chapter.

* * *

**Friction: **1. The force that opposes the relative motion of two bodies sliding against one another or merely being in contact. 2. The effort expended in rubbing two such surfaces together.

* * *

Liz wasn't in bed when I woke up, so I assumed she was either getting ready or doing Casey's bidding, given that it was the day before Christmas. I went downstairs to shower and vaguely marveled over the fact that I actually felt like a normal person, despite how poorly I'd slept the night before, in fits and starts, never able to get comfortable, plagued by thoughts and memories. Not that that would last long. I'd barely had enough time to get dressed when a still-sleepy Marti (where _was_ she sleeping, anyway?) barged into the bathroom. I was in the middle of shaving, so it was kind of a bad time. "Marti," I said, trying to keep my voice level and not taking my eyes off the mirror, "what are you doing here?" I didn't chastise her for not-knocking or say that I could've been naked, given that she'd walked in on me in the middle of two compromising positions recently.

Marti rolled her eyes at me. "What does it look like, you twit?" she barked irritably, gesturing to the shower. "Casey the wake-up fairy just came in my room, called me a lazy-bones, and told me to get ready so I could help her with the cooking or centerpiece making or whatever crock she's up to now." She was grumbling under her breath, so it was kind of hard to understand her. "She's already sent Dad and Noel out to get some extra chairs, and Mom's off getting more groceries... So Crazy's in charge." She made a face, taking off her robe. "I really wish Derek would wake up already and get her to lay off. Or at least distract her. I really have better things to do than fix that stupid tablecloth..."

I was rolling my eyes, but she didn't see, having just turned the water back on. I was trying to shave as quickly as possible. "You gonna be much longer?" Marti interjected pointedly. I shook my head barely and finished, reaching down to start rinsing the remnants of shaving cream off my face. Marti snorted. "Do you even have that much facial hair to begin with? The last time you tried to grow it out, you looked like Hitler." I whirled around to scowl at her before drying my face off and splashing myself with some aftershave. Marti raised an eyebrow. "Just who are you trying to impress, Ed? Our horny cousin?"

I debated turning to scowl at her again, but realized, rather unfortunately, that she actually did have a point. After all, I didn't normally bother (and, hey, had I just used _Derek's_ aftershave? God, I so do not need to go there!), and Lizzie had warned me about Aunt Moira, who was always looking for another husband. So I sighed and washed my hands before throwing the towel on the floor. "Bathroom's all yours, Marti!" The moment I stepped outside, a wild-eyed, vaguely panicked Lizzie grabbed me and, casting a nervous glance behind her, dragged me into the Games Closet.

It was dark and far more cramped than I'd realized. It had been a long, long time since Lizzie and I had been in here. Probably since she uh, broke it off all those years ago. With that uncomfortable thought squirming around in my head, Lizzie pulled on the light switch. The bulb had been resting against my neck and now suddenly began to burn me. I swerved away from it, half jumping so I wound up more or less pinning Lizzie against the wall to avoid the heat of the light bulb. She was a little breathless and gave me a quizzical look as I rubbed my burned throat. It hurt to swallow. I realized almost instantaneously how uncomfortably close we were, but what could I do about it? I couldn't move or the damn light would scald me again.

"Why'd you drag me in here?" I whispered, noticing how I had my hands on each side of her, kind of by her head. She looked uncomfortable, and it hit me then just how closely I was pressing against her. Liz jumped a little then, like she'd heard something, and put her fingers to her lips. Then, for good measure, she reached up and turned the light off again. I opened my mouth again to say or suggest something, and she surprised me by firmly covering my mouth with her hand, shaking her head in the darkness. I heard fast footsteps coming closer, and Liz reached down shakily and locked the door. On the way there, however, she brushed an area she shouldn't have, and I grunted. The hand clamped down on my mouth.

I was too turned on as it was, even without her touching me. I'd forgotten how wound up I'd gotten last night up until that very moment, and I felt it then, bitterly, the sting of dissatisfaction. We stayed there in breathless silence for a moment, waiting for God only knows what. Then the footsteps receded, and Lizzie relaxed against me, letting out a breath. I gave her a questioning look she couldn't see in the near-pitch blackness of the closet. Then she whispered, in a weak voice, "I'm hiding from Casey. She's already made me set all the tables and move the furniture around... And now she wants me to-" She said something then I couldn't quite make out, partially because she was so ashamed of it and partially because I'd felt every breath of hers, every murmur on my throat, and I was feeling pretty lightheaded.

Either way, whatever Casey was going to make her do was horrible or unpalatable for whatever reason, and apparently Casey was in such a mood that Lizzie was rather petrified. She'd been up half the night making about _twelve_ batches of gelatinous, flavorless tofu casserole. I could easily imagine the fearful look on Lizzie's face, and, frankly, from her description I was pretty scared too. I was kind of glad I was hiding out in this closet with her, actually. Liz reached down then, trying to find my hand but grabbing another part of me instead. "Lizzie," I managed in a somewhat level though strained voice, "that's not my hand." I found her hand with the hand she'd been seeking, picturing her reddened face in my mind, and removed it from the part of me she'd been clenching in some sort of death grip.

She leaned her forehead on my neck, sighing into my skin. "God, Ed, I'm so sorry," she breathed, sending a shiver down my chest. Her skin felt hot, probably from embarrassment. "I'm... kind of a mess, aren't I? With everything that's going on," she muttered, sagging against the wall and leaning on me more heavily. Her lips absently brushed part of my collarbone and I just about jumped out of my skin, skittish. Liz didn't notice, though. She ran a hand through her hair, and I could sense how tired she was. She was muttering something about Casey waking her at the crack of dawn and hammering her for centerpiece ideas, then forcing her to make nameplates and help come up with a seating arrangement, and then the two of them got started on a batch of sugar cookies that she was due to frost at any given moment. "I'm 'bout ready to snap, honestly," she mumbled, leaning her head against my shoulder.

She wasn't the only one, believe me.

If I hadn't been pinning her against the wall, I might've been rubbing her back soothingly. The best I could do was pull her to me and wrap my free arm around her. I felt her eyes close. "Casey wants me to make tourtière while she's got her hand up a turkey's ass," she mumbled wearily. I started snickering and soon found myself quite unable to stop laughing. Liz let out a chuckle, and then another, and pretty soon she was laughing hysterically in spite of herself. She sighed, wiping her eyes as we came to the end of the fit, still shaking with silent laughter. "Thanks, Ed. I needed that," she whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. I could feel and half-see her gaze on mine in the dimness. "Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you," she pronounced, leaning up to kiss me. She managed to catch me half on the cheek and half on the corner of my lip. That corner felt white-hot, and it _bothered_ me that I didn't know if she'd been aiming for my cheek or my lips.

I bent down to press my forehead to hers. We were looking each other directly in the eyes now. "Me either." We held both the stare and the awkward moment for some time. I felt like something was going to happen, something I didn't know what, and the air was charged with something... but then a loud knocking on the door brought both of us back to earth.

It was my brother, naturally. I knew that the minute I heard the knocks, sharp, hard, quick, and punctuated with a faint current of irritation. I didn't want to face Derek, knowing first thing he'd treat me to some sort of harangue on my inability to stop Lizzie from making out with Truman. But I didn't have a choice. "Come onnn, Ed, Liz! I know you're in there! Now come out before Casey kills someone when she's cleaning the house for the twelve-millionth time!" Derek growled, jerking at the doorknob. Liz and I froze but made no move to open the door. Liz curled back into my chest. Apparently she didn't want to face my brother either. I stroked her back gently.

Then, I heard some sort of scraping noise then a very ominous sort of click, and suddenly the door was open, and light was streaming in, blinding the both of us. A very angry brother was standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, looking like some sort of demon or angel or Greek god or all of the above. The expression on his face, initially stern, softened once he saw how we were standing. The thin line his lips were etched into became some sort of a half-smile. He was so gonna give me crap about this later. "Smarti woke me up. Apparently Casey's looking for the two of you." Liz stiffened at this, and I stifled a groan. Now Casey was looking for me too?

Derek motioned for us to get out of the closet, seeming rather bored. He turned around slowly, but not before I watched a smirk spread across his face. "Don't worry. I'll take care of her," he drawled, eyes glinting with what promised to be some mischief that would, no doubt, send Casey a little over the deep end. He jerked his head and motioned for us to follow him. It hit me then that Derek seemed different all of a sudden, more charged and vibrant. His hair looked better, his features a little less grim, his smile a little more real. He didn't exactly seem like the lighthearted, easygoing brother I'd known, but he seemed more like himself. He was wearing his hair the way he wore it his last year of high school, rather than any number of the various messy styles he'd favored recently.

Lizzie and I followed him reluctantly, Lizzie half-hiding behind me. Apparently she'd been the victim of some verbal abuse from the very wrung-out Casey. Casey's mood would no doubt worsen later on in the day. It was plain to see that being around Derek and Truman was doing her no good. Derek practically slid down the banister, very nearly skipping down the stairs. I felt like I'd fallen into some alternate universe where my brother was suddenly a happy person, and I wondered if he'd taken something to elevate his mood.

When Derek reached the base of the stairs, lazily sprawling his fingers on the base of the banister, grin still intact, he put a hand to his mouth and called Casey's name loudly. Casey came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and gloves, a boring, completely demure pink sweater with the sleeves rolled up, and a light dusting of flour. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, half-falling into her eyes. She let out a breath mildly irritably. "You bellowed?" she said, nonplussed, apparently not even registering that it was Derek who'd damn near shouted her name.

Derek's smirk might've fallen a little; it was hard to tell. Either way, he released the banister and strolled over to Casey. He gestured behind him. "I believe you were looking for these two, Sis." Casey saw us, frowned, but then eyed Derek warily, expecting some sort of a trick. This was only natural, of course, sort of a reflex, really. She took a proper look at him and sort of jolted a little, probably because he looked so very much like he had the last Christmas they'd spent any significant amount of time together. I noticed then, peering over from the top of the landing, that Derek was wearing that old necklace of his, the silver ring he used to wear all the time. He hadn't worn the necklace in ages, and, honestly, I'd rather thought he'd lost it.

Apparently, though, he hadn't. And, of course, Casey was staring right at his necklace, mouth slightly open in disbelief. Derek traced said necklace with his finger, like a talisman, and his smirk widened. Something seemed to pass between them then but I couldn't tell you what; it was as invisible yet palpable as an electromagnetic field or a radio wave. Either way, Casey's eyes darkened a bit, and her face became devoid of all expression, like a mask. Derek tugged absently on the necklace, and Casey swallowed hard before turning away from him. "Lizzie, Ed," she called in a rather high voice, completely unlike herself, "I need your help in the kitchen."

Lizzie flew down the stairs, casting me nervous glances as I shuffled down after her. I shot Derek a (somewhat pleading) look, but he just smiled reassuringly and motioned for us to follow her. He evidently had something up his sleeve... but what? Derek stopped me by pressing his hand firmly into my chest as I walked past. I tried to move, but Derek held me back with that one hand. Then, nonchalantly, he turned to face Casey. "Actually, Sis," he said smoothly, "I need to borrow Ed for a couple minutes." Casey raised a brow skeptically. "I'm in charge of beverages, after all, and I need his help with the eggnog and that weird hot cinnamon wine you insisted on..." he continued.

Casey rolled her eyes, irritated. "I've told you a thousand times! It's mulled wine! And it's very European and soothing... and it's been around since, like, the twelfth century and-" she began, voice raising in pitch. Derek rolled his eyes too and avoided mentioning the fact that we hadn't been properly "European" for generations.

He made a face instead. "I don't care if it's _muled_ wine! I'm a man's man, Casey, and that is a little bit fruity for my taste. I mean, wine's girly enough as it is... why do you have to add sugar and spice? Do you want all of our testicles to fall off or something?" he sniped. I snickered a little but sobered up by the time he'd mentioned testicles. Judging by Casey's red face, he shouldn't have said that at all, much less this early in the morning. Apparently it's too early for testicle talk (or, maybe, she just doesn't want to think about Derek's testosterone, various sexual qualities, or his ability to sire children). Derek forced a smile that wound up being more of a sneer. "But I'm sure your side of the family will _love_ it," he added a bit obnoxiously.

Casey, still with red cheeks and looking a bit distracted, scowled at him. It came off a bit half-heartedly, though. I glanced briefly at Lizzie to see that she looked kind of like a deer in headlights. She'd frozen, mouth half-open, not quite knowing what to do or understanding what was going on here. But, really, who ever actually understood what was going on between Derek or Casey or, for that matter, what they were fighting about? "There's a reason you were _only_ trusted with the drinks," she snapped a little too late.

Were they fighting over the wine itself, me, or something completely different? It was hard to tell. Derek smirked. "Yeah, because we all know I'm the life of the party, unlike you, Keener," Derek rejoined, moving his hand to my shoulder. He started steering me towards the door. "Now, come on, Ed. We have some brewing to do in the garage," he said stiffly, still staring at Casey, whose eyes followed us as we brushed past her and Lizzie and went out the back door. "Don't worry, Case... I'll bring him back in one piece!" Derek shouted over his shoulder, naturally convincing me that he meant nothing of the kind.

There was a kind of malice, something indescribable possessing Derek all of a sudden, and it half-scared me. As soon as the door closed behind us, Derek winked at me and informed me, "Just for that, I'm gonna put some extra alcohol in. It'll be fun to see Little Miss Perfect get a little bit tipsy." I swallowed, rather afraid of the trainwreck that would result once both my brother and sister got a little alcohol in them that evening. I tried to persuade him not to, reminding him that several of Casey's relatives were alcoholics or mentally instable, but that just egged him on.

The garage had been cleaned up by yours truly sometime previously, something Lizzie and I alternated doing once every month, so I was surprised that there was enough room for a fold-out table. The fold-out table had a punchbowl, two pitchers, and a crockpot on it. I cocked a brow, and Derek reached down, bringing up three bottles of red wine. He headed to the fridge then and extracted three containers of juice and two gallons of eggnog, which he then proceeded to set down on the table. He told me to mix the juices in the punch bowl and then went to the kitchen to retrieve spices, spoons, and probably a ladle or two.

I glanced at the various containers on the table: a multi-fruit juice and two bottles of Hawaiian Punch. Then I did as I was told and opened all of them, pouring them into the punch bowl, which was bigger than I'd realized. Derek returned shortly afterwards, setting Nora's entire spice-rack (how he'd managed to sneak off with that I had no idea), a pomegranate, a knife, several spoons, a grapefruit, and a handful of cherries on the table. "Oh, I almost forgot," he exclaimed, walking over to the fridge and reaching behind it, emerging with a bottle of Captain Morgan's in one hand and very cheap vodka in the other. I grimaced, but Derek just grinned and winked at me. "Wouldn't be any fun without the liquor, bro," he proclaimed, setting the other bottles down on the table and ruffling my hair.

He then proceeded to dump half the bottle of vodka into the fruit punch. He instructed me to stir the mixture and cut up and add in the fruits he'd smuggled in, despite the fact that I had no idea what the hell do to with a pomegranate. Then Derek looked at me shrewdly, having begun to pour the eggnog into the pitchers, and began to unleash the predicted irritated tirade on... you guessed it... Lizzie kissing Truman last night. I'll spare you what he actually said because it was boring as hell and predictable. Derek asked me what the hell that was and why hadn't I done anything. I told him it wasn't my place, and that it wasn't any of my business, and that he was being really presumptuous when he actually didn't know the first thing about Lizzie and me.

He said I was less subtle than I thought I was, and I said he couldn't possibly understand. He said he wasn't blind and that he understood me "better than you know." What a crock. Then I told him I didn't let Lizzie hurt me and that her making out with Truman didn't cause me any physical pain, which of course Derek didn't believe since I _must_ be in love with Lizzie and all. Derek snorted and asked if I'd seen my face when I was kissing him and commented on how green and vomity I'd looked (which, okay, I'll give him that one, but it was absolutely disgusting! I wanted to gouge my eyes out!) I told him that but added that I couldn't stop Lizzie if I tried and didn't have any control over her decisions. He didn't seem to get or believe this, but when Liz has got her mind set on something, there's really no stopping her.

I tried to protest that my getting involved would've only made it worse, but Derek still insisted that I should've done something while adding a healthy dash of cinnamon and nutmeg to the pitchers. I felt a little guilty too because a part of me thought Derek was right, and, after all, I'd wanted to do something about it, hadn't I? But what could I have done? Sullenly chucking cherry pits behind me and tossing the fruit in the punch, I retorted that it wasn't any of my business who Lizzie kissed and that she had the right to make her own decisions, no matter how _stupid_ and thoughtless they were.

Staring at the pitchers like a scientist, Derek poured a precise amount of vanilla into each one and stirred the mixture. "Don't pretend with me, Edwin. You were upset," Derek said bluntly, almost sympathetically. He reached then for the rum, unscrewed the cap, and poured half into the first pitcher and half into the second. The pitchers, I noted, looked dangerously full. He then stirred both concoctions, and I had the funny thought that my brother actually looked like a scientist or some sort of wizard brewing a potion, and the thought was laughable but I wasn't in the mood (sadly).

I sighed, chopping the grapefruit up angrily. "If I was upset, it was only because Lizzie can do a _lot_ better than Truman..." Derek threw me a skeptical look, which I ignored in favor of my cutting. "And it was like watching a damn car crash, okay? Couldn't look away if I wanted to," I added irritably a moment later, throwing the grapefruit slices into this bizarre little fruit cocktail I'd created. Some of the juice splashed me, and I wrung my hands disgustedly, already beginning to feel sticky. "It was a spectacle, that's all... And it was half-assed on both their parts," I pronounced, beginning to study the pomegranate.

Derek shrugged. "Seemed to me like she was pretty into it," he commented, the ghost of a smirk passing over his lips when he saw me clench my jaw. Derek sighed, giving me a look. "You know why she was doing it, don't you?" I nodded, hanging my head. I knew exactly why, and that was the problem: my own complicity in the whole fiasco. Derek met my eyes. "Truman looks exactly like you," he continued pointedly. I attempted to challenge that, fully ready to point out that I also looked like Derek (I'm not quite as angular and... skinny... as Truman), but he cut me off before I could protest. "And before you say different, I don't think that's a coincidence. That's the only reasonable explanation, the only reason she'd let him feel her up," Derek said, a far away look in his eyes. He was thinking about kissing Vicky at the wedding all those years ago, no doubt.

It's funny how instantaneously and immediately I knew that, as if I could read it on his face. I almost said it too, but Derek turned away and fell silent. Derek added a pinch of salt to each pitcher and stirred again, saying nothing this time. I guess he didn't see anything else he could say, and, quite honestly, I was relieved because whatever he had to say, I didn't want to hear it. Then I noticed, as I was puzzling over where to start with the spongy fruit, Derek had turned away from me and seemed to be crushing something. I tried to peer over his shoulder, but he pushed me away and said he was preparing his secret ingredient. Funny, I thought that was the salt. No matter. I shrugged and picked up the knife, trying to find out where to cut the fruit.

I made a hesitant cut by the top, pulling the fruit's skin apart slowly. Derek had by this point apparently finished grinding up his special ingredient, which seemed to be a sort of white, vaguely shiny powder. I stared at it for a moment, really hoping that it wasn't some form of cocaine or phencyclidine or some sort of amphetamine (at this point, I wasn't so sure I could put it past him... since he was reeking of all kinds of desperation). He then carefully dumped a little of the mysterious powder in one pitcher and then the other before once again stirring them carefully. When he saw me staring, he snatched the knife and fruit out of my hands, rolling his eyes, and expertly cut the fruit, throwing it back to me and instructing me to remove the all the seeds.

He set the knife down on the table and, picking up a Martha Stewart recipe Casey'd given him for the mulled wine, he began to add spices to the crockpot. Since red wine is best kept at room temperature, the drink would be mixed later or probably inside. I watched him as I plucked out seeds, shaking and smacking the fruit to free them as best I could. It was an onerous task. A pinch of salt, six cinnamon sticks that Derek crunched in his hand, a handful of cloves, a fourth-cup sugar, some ginger, three dashes of orange peel, two more dashes of lemon zest, a hint of cayenne pepper, a spoonful of aniseed, two large spoons of nutmeg, and some cardamom. I then carefully picked up the punch and put it in the fridge. Derek followed with the two practically overflowing pitchers of eggnog. He surprised me by telling me he'd clean up in a burst of mysterious holiday charitableness he'd never been known for and then thrust the spice rack into my hands and directed me back to the kitchen with a bit of a pitying look.

When I went back into the house, Marti was sitting on the floor next to the table, sewing needle in hand, fixing the tablecloth as instructed. My sister is a girl of many diverse talents, but her interests tend to change quickly. A few years ago it was painting and art. Last year she went through a quilting phase and then started up a very lucrative business making stuffed animals, which she eventually quit because she said she didn't want to go blind... and then she went through her still-continuing YouTube and videoblogging phase... Last summer it was pottery. Recently she's gotten into acting. When she was little, it was ballet. Then there was that brief stint where she'd decided she wanted to play the violin and then quit before the year was up, and that time she learned how to play the drums, and that time she took piano lessons but quit right after her first recital. She's good at almost everything she sets her mind to, which is something that I know annoys the hell out of Lizzie.

Oddly, other than gymnastics and dance, Marti's never actually taken up a sport. She went to a few martial arts classes with Lizzie, but despite the lure of ass-kicking, she got bored with "all that discipline crap" and said all she needed to know was how to defend herself. Marti's most recent interest was fashion design, which had actually lasted a bit longer than the others. Lizzie and Casey looked at her sketches and fashion projects and oohed and aahed over them, so they were either really flattering her or she was actually decent.

Casey was stuffing the massive turkey we were having before putting the slimy mess in the pan (so, yes, she _did_ have her hand up the bird's ass, stuffing in the homemade stuffing she'd made from stale breadcrumbs and spices yesterday). Stovetop, on the other hand, takes about thirty minutes, but Casey wouldn't hear of it. Lizzie was puzzling over a large, strange looking pie pan, pressing the crust in and then scooping quantities of some meat-vegetable (beef and potatoes, I hoped?) mixture in it. It looked about as appetizing right now as a dog diarrhea-questionable sloppy-joe slop, though it smelled substantially better, if not meatier.

Anyway, flash-forward about half the day later, with all of us scrambling to get the place ready for the mass family influx that was about to occur. Dad was manning the phone while Nora watched Sebastian carefully and Lizzie and Felicia inspected each of the rooms for "presentability" according to Casey's exacting standards. Derek and Marti had been charged with entertaining Aunt Madge, and I was, bizarrely, stuck in the kitchen with Casey. Casey was chattering on about something really boring, and I'd tuned her out about a half hour ago, stirring the soup the precise amount of times clockwise and counterclockwise as Casey had demanded. The soup was rather unappetizing and not quite Christmas-y enough to me, some kind of pine-flavored brown concoction that made Derek's potions look tame and less poisonous.

My slightly obsessive sister was roasting chestnuts over an open fire, yes, actually. She'd just taken her second batch of cookies out of the oven and was waiting for them to cool before she could begin frosting them. She'd scored a big coup with the yule log cake, which she'd baked yesterday and decorated like a pro to look like the log it was designed to mimic today. She'd made me mix and heat the mulled wine as well as fetch the other beverages my brother had made (she should've been more afraid of their contents, I'm afraid). The turkey was still in the oven, the gravy was on the stove, and she was about to start making mashed potatoes. Yes, it was all a little ridiculous.

Fortunately, I was saved from this domestic madness by my cheek-pinching great-aunt. "Ed-win, your cousins want to see you!" she proclaimed in a sing-songy voice that reminded me of Marti. I dodged the cheek pinch that would've accompanied the statement, managing not to upset Casey's precious mulled wine. I just barely avoided making a face, hating all of my cousins but one but _still_ preferring their company to that of this cookbook-consulting freak my sister had turned into. "Oh, hello, Casey-dear. What are you making?" she inquired politely. I fought down a grin as Casey suckered her into mashing the potatoes.

When I emerged, I saw that it was indeed my extended family and that Marti and Lizzie were bounding down the stairs. A bright purple headscarf was bizarrely wrapped around Marti's head, completely covering her hair and making her look like a grandma or peasant woman. Derek was, as usual, lounging in his recliner, having declared that it was Derekus, his own national holiday, and he couldn't be bothered or forced to work anymore for the world. He was beautifully impervious to our annoying surroundings (like I said, only one of our cousins is actually decent). I was sadly not. Dad and Nora were talking to Uncle Robbie and his new bride. Three years ago, in the middle of Uncle Robbie's midlife crisis, he not only bought a hot red convertible but dumped his loyal and way-too-good-looking-for-him wife of almost twenty years for his current wife, who isn't even thirty and is a little more than five years older than his eldest child. His eldest child, my cousin Lucas, is a year younger than Derek.

I'd never met the new Missus, but I'd certainly overheard an earful when Dad and Uncle Robbie were discussing the divorce over the phone (Uncle Robbie wanted his brother's advice on how to accomplish it being that my father is an attorney and was once a family court attorney, and then, of course, there's the whole personal experience aspect and he didn't want to have to pay a "real lawyer"). Dad had been very fond of his former sister-in-law, Aunt Patricia, and thought his brother was a moron for dumping her for a twenty-something, and he told him so. Needless to say they didn't speak for quite some time, and Uncle Robbie's only visited here once since.

Uncle Robbie was like a darker, heavier (less attractive, too) version of my father with a worse temperament. Since he was an entrepreneur, he'd made his money by stepping on "the little people," and he had the bad manners and smugness to prove it. Uncle Robbie's tastes tended to the... gaudy and overstated. His and Dad's conversation was rather strained, as for that matter, was the conversation my new aunt and dear stepmother were attempting to carry on. They had an excuse, though; they were in different stages of their lives, they had nothing in common, and my new aunt was clearly a half-wit gold-digger.

Cousin Lucas seated himself on the couch, closest to Derek. Derek smiled a little, patting Lucas on the shoulder. "Good to see you, man. How's that girl of yours?" he greeted him. Lucas pinked. Ironically, Derek and Lucas had almost nothing in common. They were both the eldest son of three children, both the product of a blended family... But where Derek was extremely self-confident, Lucas was shy and insecure. Derek was an extrovert, always the life of the party, and Lucas was a sarcastic introvert. In short, Lucas was actually more like me than he was like Derek, only a bit more awkward and a bit of a conspiracy nut. Actually, he's the one who got me interested in science all those years ago; we used to go do experiments together (and, you know, blow things up). And, okay, maybe he was a bit of a nerd, but that's cool nowadays.

It was _especially_ ironic that this was true because Lucas and Derek very nearly looked the same. They literally could've passed for twins or at least brothers, except for the fact that Lucas wore glasses and was less muscular and athletic than my brother. I wondered idly how Lizzie would react when she saw him and if she'd change her mind about my brother. Probably not. Derek and Lucas wound up talking about this redhead Lucas was kind of half in love with, and I might've sat and joined them if I didn't suspect that, as soon as I did, Uncle Robbie or his demon-spawn middle son would take notice of me.

Being the younger brother himself and having an older brother in my father much like Derek, Uncle Robbie was disproportionately fond of me, always giving me more money than my siblings, singling me out, giving me unwanted advice and awkward little pep talks that stopped making me feel better when I was nine. Perhaps for this reason or perhaps for the reason that he is a giant assclown, my cousin Robbie has always hated me. It was okay, though, because Robbie is an obnoxious spoiled brat. Sadly for both him and my uncle, he's his father's namesake (a kind of pretentious move on my uncle's part, naming the second son after himself) and favorite child. And he's the most irritating person I have ever met in my entire life, think the male version of Vicky, only super obnoxious and with an entitlement complex.

I mean, at least we _know _why Vicky's screwed up; she's got daddy issues because her dad died when she was little, and her mom spent the rest of the time until she met Uncle Harry shacking up with losers and ignoring her daughter (and Harry's not exactly much of a prize either!).

Fortunately, I was spared the annoyance of having to deal with Robbie Junior, since my uncle spotted me out of the corner of my eye and motioned me over. When I looked reluctant, Dad gave me a pleading look, so I went over to him with my best fake smile on. After all, Uncle Robbie was certainly generous, and at least he didn't pinch the cheeks, as otherwise annoying as he might be. Uncle Robbie held out his arms, grinning broadly. "Edwin, my boy! Come here and give your uncle a hug!" I shot my dad an unimpressed look because, seriously, what century was this pompous uncle of mine from? But I came over to him nonetheless and awkwardly allowed my uncle to hug me. I never felt quite comfortable when my uncle hugged me for whatever reason; it was kind of like I was always afraid he was going to grab my ass or something, and I didn't exactly trust him. There's always a family member like that, one you don't exactly trust.

Besides, I was pretty sure that Uncle Robbie had made some bad life decisions in the 1980s involving some sort of illegal white powdered substance. Make of that what you will. And it was good to see him, but still... He turned to his wife, who was blonde and young and ridiculously gorgeous. "Edwin, this is my wife, Shanda. Shanda, honey, this is my favorite nephew, Edwin," he said, introducing the two of us. I smiled thinly, holding out my hand for Shanda to shake. She was dressed in a trendy, vaguely bohemian style, and I noticed as I came closer to her that she was fairly pregnant. Shanda said it was nice to meet Edward, and I resisted facepalming and kept on smiling somehow.

"Nice to meet you too," I returned easily. She'd gotten my name wrong, but she was still smoking, so I figured I'd give her a pass. "How far along are you?" I asked politely. Shanda blushed a little and smiled prettily. She was so nice it was hard not to like her. She rubbed her stomach warmly, exchanging a secretive smile with Nora. Judging by the quirk of Nora's lips (off to the side, not exactly a smile), she remembered exactly what that was like and was glad she wasn't having to go through it again. She rubbed her back absently and glanced around for Sebastian.

"Oh, I'm about six months," Shanda said, lighting up like our house did that one year Derek and Dad went overboard and knocked out all the power in the neighborhood (and you could probably see our house from outer space). She smelled not unlike a bouquet of flowers. "Robbie and I are just so excited!" she gushed before starting to ramble on about the nursery and the names they'd suggested. I began to back away slowly before anyone else could ensnare me in awkward conversation, and Shanda was fortunately diverted by asking my mother all kinds of questions about childbirth and childrearing, while my dad and Uncle Robbie blithely discussed the kids and business matters, etcetera. I flopped down on the couch next to Lucas, mildly relieved, leaning my head into the pillow.

He offered me a sympathetic look, and I opened my mouth to ask where the pain in my ass was, but at that very moment we all heard a very obnoxious cry. "Marticakes, who's the babe holding your hand and is she dating anyone?" he exclaimed, coming out of nowhere. Literally, the asshat swooped out of the sky like some kind of bloody bat, sliding right in next to my sister and throwing an arm around her, squeezing her tight! Marti grimaced, stiffening up like plaster, and she damn near pushed him off. She gave him a look with more distaste than the ones she gave me when she thought I was screwing Lizzie, as well she should have. Needless to say, she didn't like the nickname either.

Marti's eye twitched, and I saw her suck in a calming breath and take a large step away from Robbie. "Don't _ever _call me Marticakes again if you want to live to see Christmas," she hissed, pulling Lizzie behind her with a surprising show of force. I take it Lizzie was just amused by the gesture, having never met my cousin before. Then she collected herself a bit more, straightening and answering primly, "She's Elizabeth McDonald, and she's your cousin." The look she was giving Robbie was clearly informing him not to cross the line or attempt to hit on her or anything like that, not that he'd pick up on it or listen. She could've flat-out said, "Don't go there," and he still wouldn't have understood or listened.

No, Robbie just moved in closer, and Marti looked like she was going to elbow him (and it appeared that such an elbow would almost invariably catch him in the ribs... an amusingly, delightfully painful thought!). Then he looked up and that smug, possessive grin of his widened like the cat who'd eaten the canary. Liz frowned and glanced up to where he was pointing. "Would you look at that? Seems like you have to kiss me, Zee," he said smugly. At first, Lizzie merely looked confused, thrown by the bizarre choice of a nickname and probably not sure he was addressing her. Then the pieces came together, but by that point my sister was already dragging her all the way down the stairs, muttering about Robbie's lack of tact and general disgustingness.

I was really glad Marti had stepped in before Robbie tried something because I knew that, if my cousin had, I would've been up on my feet and sending him flying within seconds. Marti threw a disapproving look over her shoulder, but Robbie was hot on their heels to pester Lizzie. With a look of distaste, Marti sighed and nearly flung Lizzie onto the couch. She wound up falling halfway on top of me. I noticed Derek shooting me a pointed look, eyes flicking from Lizzie to myself tellingly, though no one noticed but me.

At that moment, Matt popped up; apparently he'd been hiding behind the couch all this time, lying in wait. I can't decide if he just loves to bother my sister or if he has a crush on her or something. Either way, he makes Marti absolutely furious. She hates him and has severely injured him on several occasions. Makes me kind of feel bad for the kid, almost. So Matt leaped up, grabbing Marti's legs and sending her tumbling to the floor then starting to tickle her or attempting to do so, at any rate. Robbie squeezed in next to Lizzie on the couch, throwing his arm over the back of it and shooting her a smarmy smile. "Not so fast, Zee," he chided.

Liz frowned, and Robbie leaned in still closer to her, clearly going in for a kiss. Lizzie backed away from him, a wary look on her face, which meant she curled into me slash up on me slash tried to crawl over me to get away from my psychotic cousin who can't take no for an answer and was so close he was about to kiss _me_! "Look, I don't even know who the heck you are! You're just some weird relative who's trying to make out with me... And, God, is your name Collin, 'cause that would just be too flippin' fitting!" Lizzie snapped, pushing him away lightly but still forcibly enough that he almost fell over the arm of the couch.

Robbie straightened, frowning a little. He also looked a little puzzled, like he was somehow unable to understand that a woman would not want him and that she had, in fact, rejected his dumb ass. Then he gave me his most charming smile, which was, of course, disgusting and demeaning and made me feel like I needed to take fifty showers in scalding hot water. His sick thoughts were written all across his face, and if _I_ think your thoughts are sick, then they are clearly very disturbing. "What, Eddie? Aren't you gonna introduce me?" he drawled, eying Lizzie lecherously.

The nausea had returned, although it felt more like indigestion this route about, probably because Lizzie wasn't initiating it. I made a face at him. "Not if I can help it, Rob," I retorted sharply. Robbie isn't used to being denied, so his eyebrows shot up into his hair, and he sputtered for a full two minutes. I enjoyed the silence, or, rather, the sound of his pathetic stuttering. Having nothing to say to me and unable to match up to my superior wits, he turned back to Lizzie. Poor girl.

"What do you say we get to know each other better then, Zee?" he proposed, holding out his hand. "I'm Robbie, this guy's cousin." Lizzie warily looked at his hand and hesitantly reached out to shake it. Robbie's a few months younger than me, and we're cousins, so there may be a slight resemblance, but he's got dirty blond hair and a bit more meat on his bones. He's kind of the muscle-y jock sort, vaguely attractive and always smiling; he plays football at his school and thinks he's some kind of god. He sort of looks friendly if you don't know him; it's a little disarming. He let the smile spread across his face and did not release Lizzie's hand. Instead, he brought it to his lips. I think I threw up in my mouth a little, as did Lizzie. "I'm a Sagittarius, and I enjoy fast cars, strong drinks, and sex on the first date," he continued "charmingly."

If I believed in stuff like the zodiac, here's where I'd point out that Scorpios and Sagittariuses are mortal enemies and aren't supposed to get along or associate at all. Liz wrinkled her nose, evidently disgusted by my cousin, and took her hand out of his, turning into me a bit more. "How nice for you," she said, making no attempt whatsoever to conceal the sarcasm in her voice. "In case my dear, _dear_ friend Edwin hasn't told you," she began, throwing her arm around my shoulders, moving so that she was more or less sitting in my lap, "I'm _Liz_zie." She rested her head just under my chin, bringing her fingers up into my hair, tracing my arm with the other hand in a way that was meant to be possessive. Liz turned her head and pressed a daring kiss to my cheek, or, rather, the corner of my lips.

Ordinarily I might've objected to this, but Lizzie and I had a standing arrangement where we were both allowed to use each other to escape from unwanted suitors and the like. And, okay, I kind of liked that I had this over Robbie, because the guy was obviously jealous of me from the way he was glowering and shooting Lizzie lusty looks that he thought she didn't notice. And I really like getting to Robbie because he's an asshole. He's the kind of guy who picked on me in middle school until Lizzie kicked his ass, and he's the kind of guy who makes fun of me now when he gets a chance.

She turned away from me minutely and smiled sweetly. "I'm a Leo, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and karate, a crack shot, and, oh-" Liz paused here for a moment, placing a finger on her lip, a mischievous light in her eyes. "Did I mention I'm also in love with my stepbrother?" she replied with a grin, pivoting to turn the full brightness of her smile on me. Of course, her eyes were beyond me, focused solely on my brother, but Robbie thought she felt that way about me... that she was _actually_ in love with me, which is just... laughable.

Amazingly, even _that_ was not enough to deter my cousin. Perhaps it might've worked as a deterrent had he known that Lizzie was actually in love with Derek; I'm sure he knows, at least on some level, that he can **never** possibly measure up to Derek. He gave Lizzie a weird, sort of disgusted look for a minute, then he gave me a dismissive version of the same look, like he couldn't see a girl like Lizzie ever being interested in me. Then he shook his head, acting as if she hadn't said anything at all, and resumed grinning stupidly. "I think you can do a _lot_ better than that, Zee," he insisted. I was just waiting for it. "Like me." Yep. He went and said it. Could he be any more of a cliché?

Lizzie cocked her head and kind of just stared at him disbelievingly. Her fingers absently rubbed the base of my neck, and I leaned into the touch half-consciously. After an awkward silence, sensing that my cousin was about to interrupt, Lizzie spoke. "Actually, Rob, I think you're annoying as hell, and I find it hard to believe that you're related to my wonderful stepsiblings in any way... because you don't deserve the honor," she said coolly. Robbie kept on smiling like he was a little touched in the head, rather like Shelbert when he doesn't manage to break something in Chemistry. She then turned to smile at me again. "Besides, I happen to think that Ed here is ten times the man that you could ever be," she informed him smugly a moment later, throwing me a rather indecent look that, of course, both Marti and Derek happened to catch sight of.

What are the odds of that, really? Marti made a grossed-out face and Derek's expression alternated between approving, I-told-you-so, and slightly disgusted. Marti was currently precariously perched atop young Matt, who is actually a year or so older than my baby sister and thus should not, under any circumstances, be under her, cousin or not! Not that Liz noticed any of this, of course. Her hand slid down my arm and wound up deliberately high on my thigh. Fortunately Derek, Marti, and the others couldn't see that, or else there might've been some sort of riot. "He sure _feels_ like it, isn't that right, Ed?" she confided in a husky undertone, looking to me and simultaneously squeezing my thigh. Oh, the look in her eyes was wicked, and I felt all the blood rushing to my groin. I shifted, vaguely uncomfortable but pleased at the grimace and look of pure hatred Robbie was currently shooting me.

The awkward moment was broken by Marti half-shouting, "A little help here, Liz?" She was breathless and pinning Matt down with all her weight, her hands on his shoulders, a knee on his back. Amazingly her headscarf had not come undone in the struggle, which made me wonder if she'd just tied her hair up because Matt loved to pull her hair. Liz extracted herself from around me with a good-natured sigh and a roll of the eyes and then went over to help Marti up and force Matt to stop bugging her. I could only stare at her, still wound up by that comment she'd just made. Has she really just implied that we'd slept together, more or less in front of our entire family, and no one but the two of us and Robbie had heard it? It was a lot to wrap my mind around.

Just at that moment the doorbell rang. Derek directed me to open it from his bossy position on the couch, and I reluctantly got to my feet and went to open the door. I opened the door to reveal a woman who looked a great deal like my stepmother, maybe a bit prettier and thinner (apparently she'd been the beauty of the family), only a bit older, with gray streaks in her hair. She was holding something, probably still more fruitcake, and standing next to a tall, skinny man who was probably her husband. They looked a bit harried, a bit more than we were, perhaps. Behind them were four others whose age ranged from (probably) twenty-five to fourteen, their children, obviously. I felt fairly confident that this was the Aunt Belinda whose letters I'd read as a child.

She looked confused and then turned to her husband somewhat uncomfortably. "Are you sure we've got the right house here, Bill?" she asked in what was supposed to be a whisper. Aunt Belinda's husband is Bill, so I figured I had the right woman. I gave her my best charming smile.

"Hi, I'm Edwin Venturi, George's son, and you must be Aunt Belinda and Uncle Bill. Welcome to our home... come on in," I beckoned, holding a hand out for them to shake. Aunt Belinda smiled at me somewhat warily, and Uncle Bill actually smiled, though he gave the impression of not having done it much. I got a glimpse then of the people behind them, my step-cousins. Lizzie had, of course, briefed me on names and ages, as well as the fact that they, like us, were a family of eight. I ushered my aunt, uncle, and cousins in and got my first proper look at the cousins. We were two short, but Aunt Belinda explained that Maureen and Erin, who both lived in Toronto, would be here tomorrow morning.

Their second-eldest, Agnes, brushed against me more than she should've, getting a little too close as I'd heard she was wont to do. Her dark, long hair fell in messy curls around her face. Her eyes were big, dark, and shrewd, heavily-made over for dinner with spidery lashes and dusky metallic powder. She wore a short burnished gold dress under a black trench coat with black hose and spindly leather boots. She smelled sickly sweet and threw me a quasi-flirtatious glance as she threw her trench coat at me, sashaying over to the couch and very nearly falling into my brother's lap on the way. Derek gave me a vaguely cross-eyed irritated look that asked why Casey's cousins were all sluts who made a move on him within an hour of meeting him.

I couldn't say I disagreed with him. Indeed, I wondered why Casey and her grandma were the only McDonalds not taken in by my brother's considerable charms. From what Lizzie said, Agnes was kind of a hot mess, a burgeoning, unscrupulous alcoholic with an insatiable taste for married men. I judged that Liz was probably right, given the way Agnes tossed her hair and cast a glance about the room. Their youngest child, Logan, pushed past his elder siblings and made a beeline for my sister. They were more or less the same age, and she looked bored and apparently sufficiently attractive. Logan was energetic, friendly, and fearless with messy black hair and bright blue eyes. My sister took an immediate liking to him, stepping on Matt's stomach absently to follow Logan upstairs to play computer games.

Someone cleared his or her throat, jolting me back to the two left in front of me, attempting awkwardly to get past me. I was greeted by the very-becoming face of my now-favorite step-cousin. She had long, dark wavy hair and mysterious and faintly mischievous green-brown eyes, and angular features, freckled skin. She was also slender and sharp in a little black dress, matching heels, and a glittering pendant that glinted at me from her cleavage. She offered me a bemused smile and held out her hand. "I'm Keira Mitchell."

I smiled back at her. It was very, very easy to do so. I reminded myself of Sylvia, but then again, we weren't exactly dating, were we? We'd gone out once and were currently flirting via text message but had yet to set a second date. I shook her hand. Keira was my age, more or less, and she and Lizzie had always been close. "Please, call me Ed. Come on in," I said, standing aside to let her through. Her brother scoffed as Keira stepped past me, brushing against me a bit more than was necessary to enter.

Once inside, Keira turned on her heel and grinned, gesturing at the dark man who stood in front of me. He looked a bit like his sister, with similar eyes and angular features. His hair was dark and short, his face scruffy with the beginnings of a beard. His eyes were darker than his sister's, as was the look on his face. There was something sort of morbid about him, almost rotten with displeasure. According to Lizzie, he was very sarcastic, bitter, and he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He was a few months older than Lizzie, making him and Keira Irish twins at less than eleven months apart. "And that's my brother Kelley," she said, frowning faintly. "Oh, come on, Kel. You can manage a smile, can't you?" she urged, looking a bit exasperated. He gave his sister a dirty look but forced a smile and then pushed past me with a bit more force than necessary.

I rolled my eyes and closed the door. Fortunately Aunt Fiona and company wouldn't be joining us tonight, or else this dinner might become a bloodbath. Kelley and Keira headed over to Lizzie, who was attempting to get Matt to stand up so she could give him some first aid. Lizzie beamed when she saw both of them, throwing her arms around the two of them and pulling them into a hug. My asshat cousin watched sullenly from the couch, glowering at Kelley in particular. Lizzie had said that Kelley and Keira were best friends, thick as thieves, "like you and me." She was half-right. They were certainly close and best friends, but not like Lizzie and me, where there was a kind of hesitancy, a kind of uncertainty that didn't exist between the other siblings. A gray area, if you will.

Kelley, the sullen one, even managed to crack a smile. I saw immediately that she had a way with him too, a way of getting him to open up and be happy. That's my favorite thing about Lizzie, you know. No matter how much she drives me crazy sometimes (okay, half the time), she can get to me in a way no one else can. And she just has a way of sneaking past your defenses, worming her way into your life, and forcing you to lighten up and enjoy life. Once again, my life would suck without her. I'd probably still be Derek's puppet and... where would he be without Casey? It was a curious thought, one I'd entertained back in the early days of our blended family when all I'd wanted was for Nora and the girls to go back to Toronto and stop changing everything about my life.

At that moment, I noticed that both Matt and Derek seemed to have disappeared. Meanwhile our parents and aunts and uncles were all having a lively discussion about us kids. More specifically Aunt Belinda was cooing over Sebastian like she thought he was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. Sebastian liked her because she'd slipped him some candy. Robbie Junior was trying to engage a very uninterested Agnes in conversation. Had I cared, I might've thought to save her from his boring discourse, but I figured it was only a matter of time before she came onto someone. Uncle Robbie seemed vulnerable, given the relatively similar age of his new, pregnant bride. I assumed Matt had gone upstairs to harass my sister. Which left Aunt Madge, Felicia, and my brother unaccounted for.

The two elderly women were probably decorating, wrapping a present, or helping Casey in the kitchen. Which left Derek... and I had a nasty suspicion I knew exactly where he was. And, sure enough, before I'd even finished hanging up everyone's coats and putting presents under the tree, I heard a screech and a beeping noise coming from the kitchen. A second later, my brother burst out of the door, half-covered in a white, soupy-looking substance (though none of it had, apparently, landed on his face or hair). An absolutely furious Casey followed him out, wooden spoon firmly and menacingly in hand. She looked like some sort of animal or crazed chef; there was flour on her hands and in her hair, flecks of stuffing on her shoulders, and a bit of the same white substance splattered on her chest, across the apron.

"De-REK!" she shouted, reaching into her apron and pulling out something. "How could you do that? Half of the stuffing's on the floor!" At that moment, advancing towards my brother, who wasn't exactly retreating as fast as he could, I'm sure to show her he wasn't even remotely afraid of her, Casey slipped on something and nearly fell over. Derek reached out to catch her, half-lunging to do so, and Casey glowered up at him, blowing white bangs out of her eyes. "This is all your fault!" she cried before beginning to throw the chestnuts she'd stashed in her apron at him, pelting him with them. Her aim was fairly accurate, and Derek put a hand up to shield his face.

She slipped again but managed to grab onto the door frame. "You and your stupid pranks!" Derek backed up, dodging the nuts she was still throwing at him. If she'd been close enough, she would've hit him with the wooden spoon, but he was far enough away that she couldn't flog him with it. "It wasn't funny!" Had she been another girl, perhaps, she might've sworn at him.

Derek smirked. "Hey, Spacey, I just told you the mashed potatoes were a little soupy, and I think you can admit now that I was right," he said, gesturing to his apparently mashed-potato-covered-chest and then holding his hands up in a false surrendering position. Casey's response was hitting him square in the forehead with a large walnut. Derek cried out in something akin to pain. "Lucky I have a hard head, isn't it?" he quipped, rubbing his forehead, becoming more irritated. Casey rounded the corner to the dining room, and Derek backed up. In a minute, she was well within spoon-smacking distance, backing Derek up against the table, glowering at him. Derek eyed their closeness for a moment with both wariness and disbelief. It was probably the closest they'd been in years, discounting Casey's almost-fall at the bridal shop.

Had Casey been thinking clearly, she certainly wouldn't have been nearly pinning Derek against the table. But she wasn't, and instead she was so red-faced and embarrassed with anger that she probably couldn't even see straight. She never could when Derek was involved. With the way Derek was grinning, he seemed to have a cooler head on his shoulders. Casey let out some kind of guttural, visceral cry of exasperation and reached out for Derek's neck, fingers turning into claws. Danger flashed in Derek's eyes, and he reached behind him, grabbing the first thing he could find to put between them.

He'd recognized the homicidal look on Casey's face for what it was. Unfortunately, Derek had also grabbed the tourtiere that Lizzie had been press-ganged into making. And he shoved it in Casey's face before twisting away and dashing around the back of the table. The bowl-slash-pie-pan fell to the ground, and Casey's face was completely covered in steaming hot ground meat, assorted vegetables, and flecks of pie crust. "If you can't eat it, what makes you think you can dish it out?" Derek taunted. Admirably, Casey only froze for a moment, jaw slack, and then she wiped the food from her eyes and stormed off to the kitchen.

Derek didn't flee as he probably should have. Casey not directly confronting him or openly at a loss for words was a bad sign, and it usually meant she was up to something, trying to beat him at his own game. I think he was interested to see what she might come up with, and maybe a little cocky that it wouldn't top his own accidental stunt. Sure enough, our sister emerged mere seconds later, holding the gravy boat high. She charged over to Derek like a rhinoceros and, once she'd trapped him there, she proceeded to upturn the gravy boat and pour the still-hot gravy over his head with flourish. The look on her face was a bit too smug as she set the empty gravy boat down on the table with a loud clink.

Derek wiped the gravy out of his eyes with the back of his hand and blinked. He lazily ran a hand through his hair, which the gravy had flattened and slicked back. "That _really_ the best you can do, Casey?" he drawled, acting as if she'd merely splashed him, rather than dumping an entire pitcher of boiling turkey gravy on him. "I think the gravy bath's going to do wonders for my hair." Casey's eyes widened in outrage, and she might've done something else at that moment if a loud beeping hadn't sounded. We all became aware of a vaguely smoky aroma emanating from the kitchen. Casey whirled around in horror, calling Lizzie's name, and dashed back into the kitchen.

I heard various clattering noises and saw the smoke billowing out of the room. Marti dashed down the stairs, hearing the commotion, and, with some help from one of our cousins, covered the smoke detector with a wet towel to prevent the fire department from showing up. Nora and Dad were helping to heard everyone into the basement. Derek headed upstairs, probably to get water. I started opening windows to air the place out, casting nervous glances over my shoulder at the opening to the kitchen. The smoke smelled sweet and faintly acrid, a familiar aroma. Several tense minutes passed in this way until a hysterical, hyperventilating Casey and coughing Lizzie emerged from the kitchen. I made my way over to them.

Casey half-collapsed to the ground, hyperventilating and sobbing at the same time. Lizzie supported her, holding onto her as she slid to the floor, attempting to comfort and soothe her sister while coughing over her shoulder. I tried to help, but Lizzie's eyes blazed at me, and she pointed towards the kitchen, gesturing for me to go in. It was still pretty smoky in there, but Liz had opened the window to let the smoke out. I ducked down a bit to where the air was clearer, covering my nose and mouth with my hand, and scanned the kitchen. The source of the now-extinguished fire, a charred and still-smoking turkey, sat on the counter. I found a knife and cut a little bit, to see if the interior of the turkey was all right. It wasn't; it was some sort of brownish color and smoky, the stuffing dry and shriveled. Then I saw the other source of the smell, a batch of sugar cookies that had been charred beyond recognition. I picked up a dish towel and waved it in the air to dispel some of the smoke. And then, remembering that Casey was a hyperventilating, sobbing mess, my fingers found the drawer where Nora stashed the paper bags, drew one out, and threw it to Lizzie.

As I turned to leave, Derek entered the room with a bucket of water. I almost rolled my eyes at him. "You're a little too late, Bro," I said a bit sarcastically. I moved to go past him but stopped when I saw the pleading look Lizzie was throwing me, a look that said I had to take control of this situation since Casey was a mess, Derek couldn't be trusted, and our parents were sure to have their hands full. I sighed and turned back into the kitchen. It's about time for dinner anyway. "Derek, tell everyone dinner will be on the table in ten to fifteen minutes and that they should come up here."

My brother gave me a surprised look, and it seemed like he wanted to say something to me, but he ultimately complied with my orders. I pulled one of Casey's tofu casseroles out of the fridge, wondering whether the gray-white mixture would be better served cold or hot (either way it'd look equally unappetizing). Then I grabbed the tinned fruitcake Tanya had brought and headed for the dining room, placing both on the table. "Liz, take Casey upstairs. Clean her up and take care of her, okay?" I told her firmly. Lizzie gave me a hesitant, questioning look. "I'll take care of everything down here. Just help Casey out, okay?" She gave me a skeptical look and then turned to Casey, putting an arm around her and quietly helping her upstairs before any of our family could come up.

I grabbed the gravy boat and headed back to the kitchen to put it in the sink, taking inventory of things. The floor was splattered with soupy mashed potatoes, flour, nuts, and stuffing. Then I called Marti in to help me out. I handed her the pot half-full of stuffing and told her to put it in some sort of container people could eat from. She rolled her eyes but did as asked. I turned off everything on the stove and double-checked to make sure that nothing else was on. Kitchen stuff was so not my forte, but salvaging bad situations was something with which I sadly had a great deal of experience. I saw the sugar cookies Casey had frosted sitting on a rack and handed the rack to Marti. "Put these on that little tower thing Casey set out... you know, the one shaped like a Christmas tree. And put the stuffing on the table too," I instructed her, turning back to the stove.

The strange soup Casey'd had me stirring, the pine-beef bouillon or whatever, was cooling before my eyes, so I groped around for a soup tureen and started to pour the nasty mixture into it. It would do as a first course, I supposed. At least it was hot. I handed the soup and ladle to Marti when she came back in and then grabbed the pitchers of eggnog, which I set on the refreshment table Casey had set in our living room. I set some plastic cups on the table and then headed back for the giant punch bowl in the garage. Then I unplugged the crockpot that housed the mulled wine Casey had been so insistent on and brought it to the same table, which looked a bit cramped but would do, and set it down and plugged it in.

I went to find the nuts she'd roasted but hadn't thrown at Derek and found maybe two bowls full (and, since no one was looking, I also salvaged some off the ground), which I then proceeded to set at the main table. I racked my brain for any other food we had that wasn't one of Casey's horrendous tofu cocktails but couldn't think up anything that would help to feed the horde of people we had with us. I sighed, remembering what we'd done that Christmas eve when we'd all been snowed in and trapped here for Christmas. It gave me an idea. Leaving the kitchen, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and found Sylvia's number. _Know any good Chinese places that deliver on Christmas Eve?_

I then went back in the kitchen, grabbing Marti and forcing her to help me clean up the floor. I dumped the cookies down the sink and took the turkey out to the garbage. My phone buzzed just after chucking the turkey. Her reply was _of course_ and a winky face, and then she proceeded to list off a number of Chinese places that were open in town, some of which I'd never heard of before. Upon going back inside, I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled them down. However, it had started snowing right after our guests had arrived, and we were under some sort of severe weather forecast until at least ten, which made me doubt that any of the places she'd given me would deliver in a snowstorm. I supposed I could ask Derek how he'd done it that one time, but he'd likely called in some sort of personal favor that I didn't have at my disposal.

I sighed and stared at the paper for a moment, debating which number to call, and then something else occurred to me, so I picked up the phone and dialed Oksana. "Edwin! It is so good to be hearing from you! I was worried when I saw that smoke coming out of your kitchen window!" she exclaimed, enthusiastic as always. I grimaced then smiled despite myself, feeling a little bad for what I was about to ask of her.

"Yeah, it's nice to talk to you too, Oksana. Listen, I'm really sorry to be calling like this on Christmas Eve... You're probably with your family, and I don't want to ruin that... But my brother and sister got in a fight, and you know how they are... the turkey and a lot of our food got kind of... destroyed... and we've got like, twenty people over here and only soup and tofu to feed them... And I was wondering if you had any leftovers, maybe?" I got up with the sudden idea of making a salad, wondering if we had lettuce or enough vegetables for such a thing. Casey normally made more vegetables, after all.

Marti scowled at me from her position on the floor, but I ignored her, pressing the phone to my ear and opening the fridge. "Oh, Edwin, that is a catastrophe!" she cried. I smiled faintly; she never pronounced the e at the end of the word, so everything was a kat-as-troph. "Of course I will help you! I always have extra food. I will be over in ten minutes, and you will have plenty of food. Don't you worry!" she vowed. I heard a clattering noise in the background and suspected she was already getting things ready.

"But what about your family, Oksana? I don't want to cause you any trouble, and I'd hate to ruin your Christmas Eve," I protested, just knowing that she would go overboard and likely try to bring an entire feast over with her. Oksana believes that food is sacred and that there should always be a lot of it. I think it's because a lot of her family died of starvation in World War Two and that horrible, horrible famine in the thirties.

Oksana made a dismissive sort of noise. "I will be gone thirty minutes maximum, Ed-ween. Lenka can take care of her sister for that long. They'll hardly miss me. Besides, that tramp Sveta is here with that no good bastard she calls her husband. She will have the children soon enough, so she should be able to look after her sisters," she told me very precisely.

Oksana did not approve of her daughter's husband and was frequently making statements like, "I left Ukraine to avoid asshole like him! He's rich, but do you know of the dirty things he did to make that money?" She'd spat on the man once or twice, even. The man had at least twenty years on Svetlana, who wasn't yet thirty, and well, he'd made his money in oil during the early nineties in a former Soviet country, so you can imagine the rather... unfair and unorthodox skills... he used to gain his fortune. Oksana had been known to scream bloody murder at him, literally calling him a murderer and asking him if he had blood on his hands, whenever he visited. "Now, no more arguing, Edwin. I will be there soon. It is the least I can do for you after you fixed my porch."

She hung up before I could protest any further. I wondered what Oksana would bring. She was a helluva cook, that was for sure, and if any of our guests didn't like her food, they could shove it. If Robbie Junior didn't, I'd personally shove it for him. I managed to scrounge up some lettuce and tomatoes and a cucumber and told Marti to make a salad out of it. She gave me an offended, outraged look, but I rolled my eyes at her. "You're a member of this household too, Marti. Do your share."

Marti opened her mouth to protest, no doubt about Derek or Sebastian or Lizzie getting out of this, but I wasn't in the mood to hear it. "We all have our responsibilities, Marti. Considering that I have just made sure we're not going to starve tonight, I think it's only fair that you make the salad. And I know you can do that much. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go explain everything to Mom and Dad. And check to see if Casey's all right and whether or not Derek's presentable for dinner..." I failed to mention that I was seriously afraid Derek and Casey would get into it again and ruin everything. They weren't even sitting opposite each other at the table, but I still worried.

Sergei, who had apparently arrived sometime after all the drama, would be sitting opposite Casey and next to Derek so he could potentially stop anything from happening. Agnes was apparently sitting opposite Derek, which I thought was an incredibly ill-advised idea, but then again, she was also sitting between Casey and Felicia, so I rather doubted they would let anything (such as footsie) happen. When I emerged from the kitchen, I found the greater part of our family assembled in the living room, looking generally confused and a bit frustrated. The smell of burnt sugar lingered in the air and reminded me vaguely of the chemistry classroom after Mr. Hennessey did that dangerous thing with gummy bears on Mole Day.

I noted with a mild sense of relief that Lizzie, Derek, and Casey were all absent (and hopefully, wherever they were, not running into each other). When Nora saw me, she made a beeline towards me, foisting Sebastian off on Dad, who was trying to pacify everyone with little success. There was that desperate, vaguely overwhelmed look on her face, and I felt sorry for her. She must be really stressed out, though I knew it would be worse with Fiona and her spawn and some of Nora's more unhinged aunts here. "What's going on, Ed?"

I gave her a look and motioned to the table. "Well, we've got a questionable soup, some cookies, two fruitcakes, a bit of stuffing, some roast nuts, and lots of tofu casserole to eat... And plenty of refreshments, as I'm sure you can see. Not to mention the yule log cake and the salad Marti's working on right now... And don't worry about it, but Oksana from next door is bringing over some other stuff. If there's any other food, I'd like to know, and I think I maybe saw a Pillsbury thing of rolls we could make, but I'm not sure," I told her, debating going upstairs to inquire if Casey had made any other side-dishes. It seemed odd that she wouldn't, and maybe I'd missed something in the fridge?

Nora's worry lessened some, and she told me she was heading to the kitchen to see if she could make anything. Before doing this, however, she walked over to my father. She forced a smile. "Sorry about all that, guys, but things tend to get a bit... eventful... here around the holidays. I'm really very sorry you all had to witness that..." A brief look of regret and embarrassment flickered over her face. She was probably wondering, like all of us, why Derek and Casey couldn't just get it over with already and just **grow **up! "Anyway, feel free to help yourselves to refreshments and appetizers. We have a lovely beef bouillon, stuffing, and nuts for you right now, in addition to some dessert items. And, if you give us a few minutes, I'm sure we'll have a salad and some other food for you. So, please, take your seats," she said as graciously as possible, gesturing to the table and not at all betraying the uncertainty and nerves she was surely feeling.

She went into the kitchen, and I headed upstairs, figuring I had at least another five minutes before Oksana would show up. I needed to check in on the siblings, after all. I was a bit cowardly and knocked on Derek's door first. A bewildered Sergei opened the door and told me Derek was in the shower. I told Sergei about dinner, and he said he'd be down in a few minutes. Apparently he was changing into nicer clothes or something (but I've been Derek Venturi's brother a little too long to buy very obvious lies like that)? Either way, I didn't let it bother me too much and headed next door to Casey's room, hesitantly knocking on the door. A sharp, familiar voice demanded, "Who is it?"

"It's Ed," I called out wearily. Lizzie came to the door a moment later, opening it the barest crack and slipping out. I didn't even get a glimpse of Casey. "So how's the patient?" I barely avoided saying mental patient, figuring I would sound a bit too much like my insensitive brother for Lizzie's tastes, no matter how much she loves him. Lizzie sighed, dragging her hand down her forehead and over the bridge of her nose. I noticed that she'd changed clothes too, probably because hers had been covered with food from holding and helping Casey around. I hoped that meant Casey had cleaned up too.

"She's still a bit of a mess," Liz muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I cleaned her up all right and got her to stop hyperventilating, but she's still a little weepy and hysterical. She keeps apologizing and crap," Liz said grimly, very not-amused. I cracked a minuscule smile, and Lizzie scowled at me, indicating that she didn't think it was remotely funny. Of course I knew that Lizzie cared for her sister very deeply, but she didn't especially enjoy being the glue to hold the pieces of Casey together. I told her I'd managed to salvage dinner (and received an admiring look in exchange) and that she should bring Casey down as soon as possible. Liz nodded and told me she'd try her best and reentered her sister's bedroom looking a bit put-upon, no doubt wishing she was downstairs with all the normal people, rather than her slightly unhinged elder sister.

I sighed and headed back downstairs just in time to hear the doorbell ring. Hopefully it was Oksana and not, say, Vicky and or Truman, who were not scheduled to be here and would make a bad situation ten million times worse, especially if Casey found out that Truman had Frenched her younger sister. I opened the door and was relieved to see it was Oksana, and that she was bearing a giant bag full of food items, which she promptly thrust into my hands. It was staggeringly heavy and I nearly dropped it, but Oksana helped me and half pushed me inside all the way to the kitchen, grinning like a madwoman. She cleared the counter and helped me set the giant bag down, pulling things from it so quickly I couldn't inventory everything.

First out was a loaf of homemade bread and, bizarrely, some salt. She explained something about it being a traditional thing for the welcoming of guests, but half of it was in Ukrainian, I think, so I didn't exactly get it. All I knew was that being a wonderful host was, for some reason, very culturally important. Then Oksana pulled out two Tupperware containers of assorted pastries. I went to find some sort of non-tupperware container for them. When I returned and started opening the containers, Oksana had pulled out an even larger Tupperware container. I poured the little pastries and cakes onto the bowls I'd managed to find and shot her a questioning look. Oksana, however, took two fairly large frozen boxes out of the bag and motioned for me to set the various pastries on the table. "Here we have some pastries," I said, setting them down like a butler. I jumped back before the poorly-nourished crowd ate me too.

Returning to the room, I saw Oksana at the stove, boiling water and opening the frozen boxes. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she told me to take the massive container to my family. I picked it up; it was fairly hot to the touch, meaning whatever was inside of it was fairly hot too. They'd like that. I set it down on the table and opened it, not knowing what to expect. A fair amount of steam rushed out, revealing a lot of dumplings. I think Oksana called them varenki; she'd made them for us before. Family members literally elbowed me out of the way to spear dumplings. Shaking my head, I headed back to the kitchen. Oksana was at the stove, dumping bags of what were probably more dumplings into the deep pot. "Oksana, you don't have to do that," I protested feebly.

Oksana waved me off when I came near her. "Nyet, is no trouble at all! It will be less than five minutes! Now, you watch these for a minute. I have to get other things," she instructed, handing me the spoon she'd been using. Hadn't this same spoon been in Casey's hand when she'd attacked my brother? I turned to see what Oksana was doing and saw her pulling out a smaller tupperware container. Then she reached deep in the bag and carefully, very carefully, pulled out a large pot filled with some sort of soup or stew. I turned back to the cloudy varenki and water mixture, wondering if they were only filled with meat. Oksana resumed her place at my side and took the spoon from me.

"The big pot is my famous borshch. Was no trouble. There is always a pot around the house somewhere," she told me sternly, stirring the mixture. She once again assured me these dumplings would be done in five minutes and asked me for one of those fancy draining spoons, telling me to find one and a very large serving plate and other utensils. I did so as best as I could, and Oksana smiled, jerking her head in the direction of the soup. "Now, take soup to the table and serve it to your guests. Come back in a few minutes, and varenki will all be done!" she instructed me, pushing me away. I hesitantly picked up the rather warm soup pot, afraid to take off the lid lest I spill. Borscht was greasy and could stain clothing.

I came in. The varenki were literally all gone, though I did see a few on people's plates still. I hesitantly waved the soup-pot, and others stared at it rather dubiously, probably because they'd tried Casey's intriguing soup (there was still a lot of it left). I forced a smile and set the pot down, pulling off the lid and reaching for the ladle from Casey's soup. "And here we have Ukrainian borscht. There will also be more dumplings in five or so minutes." I glanced around and noticed that the stuffing bowl was empty and only small bits of salad remained. It made me think of how little food myself and my siblings, even though they'd admittedly caused this whole mess, would be getting. If anyone didn't like Ukrainian food, I would personally make them see the error of their ways, the ungrateful freeloaders. Hell, I knew Uncle Robbie was probably making some sort of snide comment about it and us having some sort of financial issues we didn't have, and the mere thought pissed me off, so I returned to the kitchen.

I really hoped there would be some food left besides Casey's awful pine-beef soup when they came down here and finally got to eat, or else we'd all be eating a lot of alcohol and dessert. Oksana was carefully siphoning out dumplings, setting them on the large plate one by one. When I came in, she smiled at me over her shoulder and motioned to the only tupperware container still left open. "Those are for you, for being such a good boy. An early Christmas present." I smiled faintly, and she reached over to pat me on the stomach with a bit of a frown. "What do your parents feed you? You are skinny like you are sitting in prison. We need to fatten you up. Women like men with more to hold on to," she clucked, worrying over me more than my actual mother or my stepmother or anyone actually related to me except perhaps Lizzie.

I tried to protest, but she shoved a varenki in my mouth before I could protest. It was hot and a little hard to swallow, but so, so good. I swallowed and then peeked in the box, looking for a suitable place to hide it where no one else would find it, i.e. behind the bran flakes that had been sitting in the pantry since Grandpa Venturi's last visit two years ago. When I turned around, Oksana was almost done putting dumplings on the tray, stacking them on top of each other. She turned to look at me with a speculative eye. "You have a girlfriend, Ed-ween?" I almost shook my head but stopped as I remembered who I was talking to, and I nodded urgently lest she try and set me up with some other psychopath. Maybe I should just tell her there's only enough room for one Ukrainian woman in my life.

It was kind of true, anyway, since I was sort of seeing Sylvia. She finished before she could ask any questions and upon turning off the stove and fetching the bag, she helped me carry the rather large and unwieldy tray of varenki. I could've handled it on my own, but I was afraid I'd botch it, and I kind of wanted everyone to know who we owed the majority of this meal to. It was hard to find an empty space on the table large enough for the dumplings, but we managed, and under Oksana's severe look, everyone showed manners about grabbing some.

Sergei, who I hadn't even noticed was sitting at the table, got up upon seeing Oksana and came over to us, looking like Christmas had come early. I didn't think I'd ever seen the fairly taciturn Russian look so happy. "Is she the one who made the borshch?" he asked brightly, gesturing to her. Oksana nodded warily, and Sergei pulled her into a completely unexpected bear-hug and kissed her on both cheeks. "It is the best borshch I have ever had. Better than my mother's," he proclaimed jubilantly before he started babbling to Oksana in Russian, and I was completely lost. The only word I caught in the conversation was borscht and plenty of gratitude and thank-yous from Sergei's end, but I thought it sounded like Oksana was inviting him to dinner tomorrow night (but I couldn't be sure).

I managed to steer them both away from the main table, since it was becoming a little awkward, but they both seemed to be enjoying each other's company a lot. Finally Oksana frowned and said she had to get back to her daughters, heading for the door. Bored by their conversation which I couldn't understand, I noticed Lizzie and Casey coming downstairs. Lizzie led Casey to the table, pushing her into her seat, and then practically bounded over to me, probably tired of dealing with her sister. Go figure, eh? "Hey, Ed... what's up? I see you got food on the table, but how..." I motioned to Oksana, who was smiling at my sister in a very devious way. Through some bizarre fluke, she and Lizzie had never actually met. "Ah. Hi, I'm Lizzie, and you must be Dr. Zolyar. It's nice to finally meet you. Edwin's told me so much about you," Liz said, offering Oksana a hand.

Oksana shook Lizzie's hand firmly. I was proud Liz had remembered that Oksana went by her maiden name, Zolyar, rather than her husband's name, Yushchenko, like her children. Oksana grinned at me, tilting her head mischievously. "Eta tvaiya dyevooshka?" she asked me, raising her brows. I frowned, and Sergei must've said something that made her realize that she'd said it in Russian (I might not have spoken the language, but I certainly knew what she was getting at). "Sorry... Is she your girlfriend?" she repeated, eying Lizzie speculatively.

I knew that was coming, and still I feel like someone's kicked something out from under me. Lizzie's eyes widened, and she no doubt set out to set Oksana straight, but I stepped in front of her and nodded before Lizzie could say a word against it. "Yes, yes, she is. Isn't she beautiful, my girlfriend?" I said nervously, moving to Lizzie's side. She was glaring at me and quickly stopped once she saw that Oksana was staring, forcing herself to plaster on a smile. Liz knew exactly why I'd lied since she knew about my history of horrible blind dates courtesy of this kind Ukrainian woman. I put my hand on Lizzie's shoulder and brushed her cheek with the back of my hand, doing my best to be a lovestruck boyfriend and not a horrible liar. "How I love her," I murmured, staring into Lizzie's eyes, feeling vaguely, horribly uncomfortable (and, admittedly, wondering just what the hell Sergei was thinking about this... but then again, he'd heard those things Derek had said, so maybe he wasn't so surprised), and really hoping Oksana bought it.

"Indeed you do. She is a lovely girl, your girlfriend," she said with a smile, gazing at Lizzie fondly. I saw the surprise flicker across Lizzie's features before she masked it. I couldn't believe Oksana had bought it, and it made me think that maybe my friends had a point. I hated to think stuff like that. Oksana took a step towards the two of us. I now had my arm around Lizzie, practically pulling her to my side. "Looks like she takes care of you," Oksana observed, faintly amused. I swallowed hard, completely red in the face. "You need woman to take care of you, Edwin. Don't let this one go, ah-kay?" she replied, patting me on the shoulder and kissing me and Lizzie on the cheeks. "Next time you come by for tea, bring her. I'd like to know more about this girl you're so crazy about," she said with a wry grin, before opening the door and leaving with a wave.

Well, Nora would be definitely giving her a thank-you note and bringing over some sort of Nora-specialty which, sadly, could not compare to an Oksana specialty... And she'd made quite the impression on my somewhat-annoyed stepsister. Then we all turned around and headed to the table, just in time to see a sharply-dressed, wet-haired Derek come bounding down the stairs. Sergei made a point to retake his seat opposite Casey before Derek could co-opt it, and Liz and I headed towards our places at the children's table. Marti had, of course, saved food for Lizzie, but I was fending for myself, despite having supplied most of the food. I saw that we had a few more side-dishes that Casey had supplied upon coming back to herself, some deviled eggs and ratatouille and whatnot.

I helped myself to some of that, a bowl of Oksana's borscht, a few of the remaining dumplings and a few nuts. Then I grabbed some pastries, seeing the apple ones I liked, and grabbed myself a glass of punch, spiked though I knew it was. Hell, I felt like a little alcohol would take a bit of the edge off, as long as I remembered to not have more than two glasses or so. I couldn't exactly remember how much vodka had gone in it. I'd foolishly thought the drama was over then and there because we'd had our first major catastrophe of the night and Derek and Casey had gotten into the predicted food fight, but I was oh so very wrong.

It started up before we'd even gotten to the yule log cake. As us McDonald-Venturis had been busy saving Christmas or, rather, ourselves, the majority of us were the only ones who weren't close to being done with dinner. I'd just finished my dumplings and was halfway through my borscht when Derek waved something in his hand, a beat-up manuscript that flapped like a lame bird. And this meant trouble. He got up and slowly headed over to Lizzie and me, two of the scripts in hand, one for each of us. Then he smiled that stupid charming smile of his, and an evil, delightful look glinted in his eyes. "You promised," he reminded us in a vaguely sing-songy voice, "You promised to read my script aloud... Certain family members are pretty _curious_, I'd say, about what's in it." He cast a look over his shoulder at Casey, who looked very pale all of a sudden. Her eyes were still a little swollen and bloodshot, but Derek just grinned.

I gave him a look indicating clearly how poor of a decision and action I thought this was, and how despicable I thought he was being at the moment, since it was clear that poor Casey was about two steps from some sort of nervous breakdown. I mean, didn't Derek realize that she'd almost strangled him earlier? He was being even more obnoxious than usual, not taking no for an answer. Whatever his agenda was, I wanted no part in it, and I had a nasty feeling that reading this script would only heat up things between Derek and Casey when they were already almost at a breaking point. Derek grinned like a madman and flipped one script, mine probably, to a page. "Read the bracketed section," he told me, thrusting the script into my hands and leaving the more enthusiastic Lizzie to turn the pages in her script according.

I gazed up at the ceiling for a moment and then around the room, asking some higher power to make me refrain from doing this. However, my asshat uncle and various sundry other relatives, while not notably including Mom or Dad, urged me to do it, and I didn't really have a choice, especially with Lizzie glowering at me like that. I muttered a silent apology to Casey and then started to read the lines, dreading it yet still intrigued at the peek into my brother's consciousness. Maybe it would answer some of my questions.

I inhaled deeply and then used my best Derek voice, refusing to get up from the table and only looking at Lizzie and the script as I said the lines I'd been given. "Yeah, except all of this didn't _start_ last night, Stacey. It started the minute you moved into this house, and you and I laid eyes on each other," I began with a strange emotion, a mixture of indignation and disgust and fatalism. Lizzie's stare was intent on mine, and I didn't want to imagine how Derek was staring at us, considering all the emotion I'd put into my voice. "It's been like this for a long time, both of us waiting for something to happen. And it was always gonna be like this. You knew this moment was coming from the second you met me." It was a bit smug, a bit certain too, rather like my brother.

Lizzie looked down, lips tightening. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said coolly, as the real Casey would have, seeming to withdraw into herself.

I leaned across the table, as the script told me to get closer to her. "You know there's something here. Some _spark_. You can feel it, can't you?" I murmured, almost taunting, still determined to make her see, putting my hand on her cheek. Liz flinched at the touch and jerked away, rubbing her cheek and not meeting my stare, which was very unlike her but very like her sister. "You _know_ I'm right, Stace," I urged, infusing the statement with the proper amount of Derek cockiness. I paused to swallow thickly, trying very hard not to imagine what Casey was thinking about all of this. Wait, Stace, as in Stacey? Was Derek really that transparent? "Even if you won't admit it." I leaned in a little further, repeating that I was right, and she once again moved away from me.

"It meant nothing to me! So stop pressing it," Lizzie snapped, scooting her chair back a few steps, as far as it would go. Her voice was harsh and jarred, a little unstable. It was clear that I was supposedly getting to her. I wondered if it was getting to the real Casey, if they'd really had a talk like this or if Derek had just made it up (though, really, wouldn't Derek make up a conversation that was favorable to him?).

I grinned like I was supposed to, like Derek would have, a bit wolfishly. "Now, see, I can't do anything _but _press it, Stace," I drawled, ever contrary, leaning in still closer. Liz wriggled away from me uncomfortably, and there our section ended. I hadn't thought of it as anything real, just as playing dress-up like we used to and pretending to be our older brother and sister, nothing unusual.

And now, Derek scrambled back over to us, taking the script from me and flipping to another page. I took the chance to look over at Casey, who was grinding her teeth. Her cheeks were red with mortification. Just about everyone who knew both of their names had an idea of what was going on here. Derek gestured to another part he'd bracketed. I noticed that this part of the script seemed more worn. He'd crossed out words here and there, scribbled in new ones with question marks on the side. Then Derek cleared his throat and dashed back to his seat to look smugly at Casey from across the table. I sighed and began to read the lines, hoping this was the last excerpt and that it wouldn't set Casey off.

"Come on, Stace... You don't have to pretend with me, remember," I began suavely, still close to Lizzie, just like the script told me to be. I wasn't quite as in her face, but that would've been a bit of overkill. Though Derek had clearly marked this part of the play as the climax or something to that effect. I continued pejoratively, "I'm not like your little _boyfriend_. I know you better than that, and I can see right through you." I sneered exactly like Derek would have, and Lizzie winced instinctively. "And," I added in a mocking undertone, as was written in the script and mostly because I didn't want Casey to hear, "you don't do that sort of thing with just anyone. It's not the kind of girl you are."

It hit me what I'd said after the words were already out of my mouth, and I stared up at Derek in astonishment, wondering what exactly he was playing at. Was he hinting at what it sounded like? Why were the words so vague? Casey's cheeks reddened further, and she sank down a little in her chair, like she wanted to disappear. She must've heard something, then. Lizzie, however, was perfectly calm, a little too calm, actually. "It was a _gross_ error in judgment. Literally. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat it," she pronounced icily, face wrinkling up in disgust. Her expression remained severe and austere, and she left no room to question the script. I wondered if things were written in hers, like what expression ought to be on "Stacey's" face down to an exacting specificity I had previously thought my brother incapable of.

I forced myself to stare her down levelly, to not react and rise up, to continue with the little act. "But it happened for a reason, Stace," I persisted, reaching a hand out towards her. A word or two was redacted after "happened" with a thick black line so I couldn't tell what it had said previously. Not knowing made me frown. Was it just a typo, or was Derek's script initially more revealing than the one I was reading now?

Lizzie full-on scowled at me. She slapped my hand down and jerked away from me again, throwing a hand in the air, exasperation flitting across her features. Had she been standing, I'm sure she would've been pacing. "Yeah! Every gross error in judgment I've ever made has happened in _your_ presence! It's like everything I'm thinking goes out the window when it comes to you!" she nearly shouted, narrowly avoiding rising to her seat like she would have if we were arguing. She felt a little uncomfortable by the intensity of the emotions depicted, and I saw her cast a glance at Casey as I began my next line. I thought the line a bit more honest than something Casey would've actually said; it wasn't like her nowadays to admit that Derek had such an effect over her, much less that she _let_ him.

"You ever think there's a reason for that, Stace?" I asked rhetorically, cheekily. Liz cocked a brow, no longer looking at her sister. She probably didn't like what she'd seen. I grabbed for Liz' wrist, holding it firmly so she couldn't break free. Well, Lizzie herself would've broken free, but Casey just would've tried. "A reason why you can't think clear when I'm around? A reason why I make you so angry you can't see straight? A reason why _I_ was the one that night?" I demanded, getting pretty worked up and angry and breathless myself. Several words had been redacted after "the one", and I couldn't help but wonder what they might've been. They were probably important. The words Derek had used were somewhat revealing but ambiguous enough for it to be taken in several ways, as I'm sure he wanted.

At this very pause, Casey pushed back from the table and got up in a loud sound, whirling around and loudly storming upstairs, not even sparing my brother a look (because that would apparently give him too much satisfaction). Derek was grinning with satisfaction nonetheless, no doubt marking this as a victory. How much of a victory was it, though, really? He'd managed to publicly embarrass Casey in front of almost her entire family, true, but this little scene was revealing things about himself, too. Wouldn't everyone have questions after this little act was over? Or, as usual, would they not dare to ask any of them?

She struggled against my grip, eyes faux-blazing. It was a half-hearted sort of look, really. Her voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch. "Maybe because you're everywhere I look! Around every corner, watching, waiting for some sign of weakness so you can just swoop in and try to ca-" she half-screamed, stress and pain jolting out from every word. She sounded mixed up and hurt and furious and more than a little paranoid, more than any of that, absolutely exhausted, rather exactly like her sister. Perhaps it was a good thing Casey had stomped off; I could only imagine what her reaction would be to a statement like that.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Spacey," I replied swiftly, clenching my jaw. I knew it wasn't the best line, and Derek probably did too. But, wow, his scripted characters even used the same insults and pet-names? It was said with a blistering kind of quickness, a bluntness that didn't sting the way more careful words might've, but it did succeed in cutting off the conversation like I wanted. I sighed in relief, missing the one line scribbled in below it.

"I used you. You used me. End of story," Liz said with a shrug and a hollow voice, staring at me with wide, empty eyes. Why did that sort of sting? The room was so silent it was like a hydrogen bomb had gone out, decimating all forms of life on the planet. Either that or a massive asteroid, like the one that wiped the dinosaurs out 65 million years ago. Then Liz set the script down, pushing it aside, clearing her throat uncomfortably. I could sense that she, like me, realized what she'd fallen prey to and didn't appreciate Derek using her as a pawn in his eternal chess match against Casey, a match that was just waiting for one sloppy mistake to fell the king.

Everyone at the table felt awkward, many of them because they had no idea what was going on and had a feeling they didn't really want to know, and the rest of us because we had an inkling of exactly what had just come to pass, and that was terrifying. Fortunately, however, the silence was broken by a distraction—one very drunk distraction, Cousin Agnes. She started clapping.

"Wow, that was fantastic. I could really feel the sexual energy there," she exclaimed loudly. Nora blanched, and I'm sure I was as red as a ferric compound. She smiled crookedly at Derek, who wasn't smiling and looked mildly disgusted with her. "You're a verrrry good director, you know. I can tell. And, if you're looking for an actress..." she pronounced, attempting to move closer to Derek, which was difficult, as there was an entire table between them.

According to Liz, Agnes is an aspiring actress. She's booked a few modeling jobs, so she has some ridiculous aspirations in my opinion. I mean, sure, the girl is pretty, but I could easily see her becoming an escort or someone's mistress. Derek shrugged noncommittally, and Agnes pouted, glancing around the table. "Well, _I_ thought that was brilliant! I don't see why everyone else is being so quiet about it," she interjected, a tinge of offense creeping into her tone. Aunt Belinda and Uncle Bill exchanged looks and exasperated sighs. At this point, I got distracted from the spectacle that was Agnes by another spectacle when my least favorite cousin started trying to put the moves on Lizzie yet again.

Someone very cruel and stupid had arranged the seats, so I was sitting in between Lucas and Kelley with Lizzie directly opposite me, and Keira opposite her brother. Rob had tricked Logan into trading seats with him so he was sitting next to Lizzie, moving ever closer. Lizzie cringed every time he did this and moved away. Marti, meanwhile, was sitting at the head of the table with Matt and Logan on either side of her, and she alternated shooting Logan dreamy looks and kicking Matt in the shins under the table. To be fair, I think she was aiming for Robbie Jr. a couple of those times, but he was a bit further away.

"Come on, Zee. That was really hot, you know," he urged. Lizzie rolled her eyes and threw me a look across the table. I glanced over at stony-faced Kelley, who was predictably glowering at Robbie, who of course didn't notice. If looks could kill, Robbie would've been all diced up by pretty, sharp laser beams. Too bad you can't turn hatred into a weapon.

"I was just reading a script," Lizzie muttered, cheeks heating up a bit. Robbie began to give effusive praise, and Lizzie sighed wearily and tried to adopt another tactic. "I mean, really, you think me flirting with Edwin is... _arousing_?" she continued, cocking a brow and having a bit of fun with it. I cringed. She just had to go and say it, didn't she? Marti flinched and gaped at Lizzie at the same time as our other cousins exchanged confused and vaguely disturbed looks. They don't get the way things work in this family, apparently. I wanted to bury my face in my hands so I didn't have to watch, but I did _so_ want to see Lizzie turn Robbie down and use me to do it (although she should probably switch to another tactic, since he doesn't seem to be getting the memo).

Robbie, practically drooling, outdid himself in his chance to agree with Lizzie and nod vigorously. I saw the smirk form on her face a second later and knew instantly where she was going with this. "Yes. Ed's always good for a _stimulating_ conversation, and he's really good at helping me resolve all my little problems..." Liz drawled, eying me positively wickedly, the implications in her voice oh so potent. Sometimes I honestly think she enjoys seeing how uncomfortable she can make me. "-But I don't think he'd be up for giving you a _hand_ there," she countered, glancing down pointedly and stifling a smirk. She frowned. "I mean, he _is_ your cousin. That's pretty gross."

Some family members rolled their eyes at the ridiculousness of this phrase and perhaps sought to point this irony out to Lizzie, who was of course well aware of it. Robbie, meanwhile, was fumbling all over himself, slack-jawed, to correct Lizzie's amusing little assumption. For my part, I did my best to give Robbie an affronted look and then tell him "nicely" that I didn't swing that way. I didn't feel too bad, though, since he'd walked right into that one. I did, however, really want to change the topic because Lizzie bandying words like that about made me feel uncomfortably interested in what she was saying. Yeah, that's a neutral way of putting it.

I think Robbie actually said that Liz was the only cousin he was interested in. Keira raised a brow but otherwise looked a bit relieved. Liz rolled her eyes, losing her patience, sick of his litany of her virtues and reasons why she should consider him. She might've given him half a chance if he'd faintly resembled Derek, but he didn't, so he was just annoying. Had Derek not been preoccupied with evading Agnes' increasingly blunt overtures and enjoying his recent triumph, he might've come over to rescue Lizzie. So it fell to me to step in, as her brother.

I hesitated before poking Kelley in the side. He turned his annoyed visage on me, but I didn't particularly care. "Trade seats with Lizzie," I urged him in a whisper. He raised a brow as if to say "why me? Why not you?" I sighed, gesturing to Robbie. "We **hate** each other, and he'd still try and come onto her. But he won't if you're sitting next to him and Lizzie is as far away from him as humanly possible," I continued urgently. Obviously I knew Liz could take care of herself, but if Robbie was any more annoying, he risked being seriously maimed or injured... and no one would blame Lizzie for it.

Robbie swooped in for a kiss then, and Lizzie shoved him back about two feet. She was being nice. I threw Kelley a desperate look, but he nodded and then got up slowly, walking over to the other side of the table. Liz looked up at him, clearly puzzled. "Switch me," he demanded, reaching across the table to grab his plate. "I want to sit next to my sister," he said, lightly punching Keira's shoulder. Lizzie still looked sort of uncertain so, rolling his eyes, Kelley drawled, "I know you want to go sit next to your lover. You've been playing footsie under the table all dinner. I know you want to be next to him... So just go find a closet and get it out of your system already." He gestured very obviously towards me.

I believe I turned some interesting shade of purple. Lizzie's own face was hot pink like Marti's old Barbie Dreamhouse. I swallowed hard when he advocated "getting it out of my system." It brought up ideas and thoughts and memories and daydreams that were better off left unexplored. Much less in the closet, of all places. We'd only kissed in there once, after all. It needed to be chris-Okay, there is nothing good and holy about that train of thought, Edwin. It's Christmas, for God's sake, a _family_ holiday. Try to keep it PG... and try to keep your thoughts at least PG-13. I am not Derek, after all. I don't go around awkwardly sexualizing people's perfectly innocent holiday dinners and events.

Liz swallowed hard and got up slowly, not looking at me. "I think I can wait a little," she said in a voice that was a bit lower than it should've been when addressing one's cousin. She forced a smile. "After all, I've learned to delay gratification..." Then she turned to look at my brother with a look so full of undisguised longing that I was in disbelief that I was the only one who'd noticed. But, then again, maybe I was the only one who paid enough attention to know what I was looking for and at. I sighed and threw her a look. She caught the barest end of it and anger flashed briefly across her features. She rose swiftly to her feet. "I think I'll go check on Casey," she added, practically running away.

It occurred to me for the first time that Liz was acting more than a bit off, and naturally it led me to speculate as to the causes of her peculiar behavior. So I began to examine the things that were different about today. Well, for one, that giant spectacle with Derek and Casey and our being forced to participate in it... not to mention having all the family under one roof together... my cousin hitting on her. However, with so many differences and changes, it was downright impossible to pinpoint one. I sighed. The day wasn't even half over, and I already wanted to go to sleep.

I got up to get the Yule Log cake and start serving it. When I came back, I was surprised to see that Casey and Lizzie had both retaken their places at the tables. Casey took the cake from me, smiling, and I wondered what the hell Lizzie had said to her to do a complete 180 in her mood. I flopped down next to Lizzie at our table, gaping. "What did you say to her?" I mumbled, still in disbelief.

Lizzie smiled. "The usual stuff about how she shouldn't let Derek have control over her life. Then Derek took her aside for a bit in the living room." All of that had happened when I was getting the cake out of the freezer? Lizzie's gaze turned to focus on my brother. "I guess he apologized?" she suggested with a shrug. He'd have had to for Casey to be acting so normal... almost like we were a family, even if Derek kept jumping up in his seat because Agnes was trying to play footsie with him. Although, judging by Casey's grin every time that happened, I sensed she was enjoying it a little too much to actually be playing happy families with him. I still didn't get why she'd forgiven him for embarrassing her in front of our entire family when she hadn't forgiven him for whatever had happened to cause them to stop speaking (and, thanks to Derek, I now had a lot of very interesting ideas for the reasons behind the split).

We ate the cake in a mostly stable environment, and I foolishly began to think things might go well for once, that everything was starting to work out and maybe something could be salvaged. This silly feeling continued when Aunt Madge brightly and enthusiastically shouted for Derek to use his talent for entertaining people like he had the last time she'd visited. Derek offered her a mildly sheepish smile and asked for her to give him a little time to prepare things. I gaped at him, surprised at his lack of protest. Derek got up then, putting his empty plate in the kitchen and came over to our table. "Hey, Smarti, wanna be my special helper?" he drawled, jerking his head towards the stairs. Marti nodded enthusiastically and shot up from her seat, leaving me, Lizzie, and Casey to begin cleaning up. Typical Derek, always leaving messes for other people to fix.

Dad and Nora, who was beginning to nod off during a painfully dull conversation with Uncle Robbie, herded everyone to the living room, helping themselves to more punch, eggnog, cookies, and fruitcake. I was busy putting plates and cutlery in the dishwasher when Derek came in, hands full of hats. Marti, for her part, was holding wigs and costumey things. "Okay, so here's the deal," Derek began authoritatively, setting the hats on a miraculously clean part of the counter. "We're gonna act out Dad and Nora getting married. The _real_ story this time," he replied, eyes slashing over to Casey and softening inexplicably. Derek licked his lips and then turned back to the task at hand. "Same parts as last time. Ed, you're Dad." He tossed me the blond wig and Marti handed me a ridiculously overlarge and hideous sweater Aunt Madge had knitted for Dad years ago.

I had never seen him wear it, since it was a crime against knitting. "Lizzie, you're Nora." Derek threw her the short black wig, and Marti solemnly handed her Mom's wedding ring. Liz turned to me almost immediately, offering me the ring.

"Maybe you should keep it," she suggested, putting it in my outstretched hand and closing it up. I thought it was rather a poor idea, so I tried to give the ring back to Lizzie, but she wouldn't have it. I wound up putting the ring in my pocket.

Marti handed Casey a stuffed animal and hair ties to put her hair in pigtails. Then she started to drape pearl and bead necklaces around herself. I noticed she'd put on an old pink sweater of Casey's and that they sort of matched now. "And Sebastian's gonna be playing me, of course," Derek continued as Marti threw him the black tuxedo shirt he'd worn the last time we did this. Derek thanked her and turned to pull off his shirt. If Lizzie had been holding a plate, she would've dropped it when she saw the muscles in his back ripple, and damn, my brother did have a lot of muscles.

I noticed Casey surreptitiously glancing at him out of the corner of her eye while washing dishes, but she turned away and protested anyway. "Derek, do you really have to do that in here?" she objected lamely, wringing her hands and sounding vaguely exasperated. She almost said his name in that peculiar way she had of stressing it and breaking it into almost three syllables, but quieter. Derek pulled his shirt over his head and turned halfway to look at her, hair falling into his eyes, an amused look on his face.

"What, Case, is me being shirtless gonna contaminate the food somehow?" he retorted with a smirk. His eyes glimmered like they used to, and he actually seemed kind of happy. Casey scowled at him, rolling her eyes, and started to chastise him like in the old days. Derek wasn't quite himself either, I noted as he pulled the new shirt over his head, a small, self-satisfied grin on his lips. Indeed, Derek was different, more charged, more _alive_, now that Casey was here, but not quite lighthearted like he used to be. If he seemed to be, it felt like an act, but he was definitely more like his old self than I knew what to do with... not so moody, not such a meddling pain in the ass, all wrapped up in his own life (and Casey's) again.

Lizzie was sharing unashamedly, so I nudged her as she was adjusting the wig. She frowned at me as Derek pulled the shirt straight and found the top hat to go with it. I sighed and started tucking my real hair under the wig. I then noticed a boom box sitting next to the hats on the counter. "Marti, go get Sebastian," Derek instructed her. She frowned a little but turned and did as he asked. Derek called after her, "And while you're at it, take that ridiculous babushka scarf off your head!" Apparently Marti did so because we heard a great fuss being made in the living room, loud gasps and then both of our parents shouting.

"Martina Ariel Venturi, _what_ have you done to your hair?" Unable to stop myself, I walked to the doorway and peered out into the living room only to see a sight that made my eyes nearly pop out of my head. My sister was holding Derek's leather jacket and sunglasses in one hand and our little brother's hand in the other. She'd removed the kerchief/bandanna to reveal a whole head of unrealistically bright purple hair. She had to have done that some time this afternoon, since she didn't have purple hair in the bathroom this morning.

Marti immediately began arguing that Lizzie had had purple hair once, and they'd been fine with that, to which Nora protested that Lizzie had _asked_ first and had only gotten streaks in her hair. The argument continued rather a bit longer than it should've, with Mom and Dad grounding Marti for a month and Marti whining about how it wasn't fair. Derek smirked, looking a bit proud of our sister, and I turned to Lizzie, who was looking a bit sheepish. I cocked a brow and walked over to her side, giving her a look. She put a finger to her lips, and I noticed a few tell-tale traces of purple dye on her fingers. "Okay, so maybe I helped her a little," Lizzie admitted reluctantly. "But you have to remember that I had purple hair, and it's her favorite color, and she gave me that little cute face of hers so I couldn't say no."

I rolled my eyes. Lizzie has never known when to say no with Marti. Sometimes she's a bit too compassionate for her own good. Nonetheless, I seriously doubted that it had been especially difficult for Marti to convince Lizzie to help her, since purple was their mutual favorite color and Lizzie had done it before. I was sort of impressed they'd done it without anyone knowing or making a mess in the few hours they'd had to themselves this afternoon. Marti had certainly picked an interesting time to change her look, but then again, she liked to change her "look" about once a month, more often if she was dealing with some stressful life issues or having an identity crisis.

Anyway, some ten minutes after she'd left, Marti returned with electric purple hair and our little brother. She helped him into Derek's jacket, carefully perching the ridiculous aviators on his face and messing up his hair the proper amount for him to achieve maximum Derek resemblance. The real Derek allowed himself a rare, genuine smile at the sight of our younger brother, and he knelt down to talk to him. "Okay, Seabiscuit, here's what you're gonna do. See, all of us are putting on a play of when Dad met Mommy, okay?" he said softly, gesturing to all of us. C nodded, putting his thumb in his mouth, tired from all the food and people pinching his cheeks. "And you're gonna be me in the play, so just act like I would." And then he started to whisper things into Sebastian's ear that made him laugh. After a little bit and a bit of practice, Derek pronounced us ready, gave us our orders and cues, and headed out front to entertain the crowd.

He made a sound like he was blowing on a trumpet. My brother, always the show man. "Announcing the celebration of the Festival of Derekus!" I rolled my eyes and heard Nora and Dad's whispering about Derek's own peculiar holiday custom. Derek cleared his throat loudly. I could picture the wild hand gestures. Honestly, Derek was such a ham sometimes that it surprised me that he was contented being behind the camera, though I suppose my brother prefers pulling the strings and directing the scene to being an active player, subject to others' whims and desires. "And, in honor of our special guests, we will be telling the story of how the Venturis and McDonalds came together, featuring the Derekus Players," he continued loudly. That was my cue, so I walked out, feeling uncomfortable as always.

I sat down on the stool in the middle of the room, well aware that most of the eyes in the room were focusing on me (save for drunken Agnes, who was being restrained by her parents from crawling up Derek's leg). "Now, our tale begins with a guy named George. Poor George was oh-so lonely." Someone had pressed the cd player and started playing "Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely." I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the laughter that seemed to overcome everyone at the song and my ridiculous outfit and hair. I did look a bit like Dad, though.

I sighed melodramatically. "I'm oh-so lonely," I cried, gazing moonily into the audience. Yeah, am I ever gonna live this down? Nope. "I wish I could meet the love of my life," I said with a pout, throwing my arm out towards the kitchen and staring expectantly. The music stopped.

"But then one day," my brother continued theatrically, "Lonely George met the love of his life." "'Til There Was You" started playing, and I got up to move the stool out of the way. Surprisingly, Derek deviated from the established script for a joke, "And she wasn't my mom. 'Cause we all know that was a nightmare." Awkward laughter ensued while Dad glowered at Derek until Nora smiled at him, giving him a look that kind of asked if he wasn't glad that he was no longer married to Abby. And, seriously, if Dad wasn't happy that Mom dumped him, he really should be because Nora is way nicer and prettier and more interesting than Mom. "And he met her... At a party!" Derek danced like a monkey, and the music changed yet again and Lizzie came out.

I'm sure if Derek had a spotlight, he would've focused it on her to look more angelic or whatnot. Lizzie smiled at me from afar, no doubt amused at the spectacle. "Be still, my beating heart," I murmured, clutching my heart and staring at her dumbly as she walked around. I heard chuckles but kept the ridiculous look plastered on my face.

Derek continued, "So lonely George took his heart in his hands." I walked over to Lizzie, taking her hand and starting to dance. The music that was playing was laughably romantic and flowery, some Disneyesque waltz Casey must've picked. Lizzie and I actually don't dance together very often, so at first it was awkward like at our joint birthday party, far apart, just back and forth, though I was leading.

I surprised Lizzie by spinning her around and immediately sinking to my knee, taking her left hand in both of mine. "Ohhhh..." I sighed. She almost fell over but beamed down at me reassuringly nonetheless. I felt kind of breathless all of a sudden, which was weird since I didn't think I'd managed to exert myself that much. It must've just been the suddenness of all the motions. I reached down and fished around in my pocket for the ring, ridiculously glad I hadn't lost it. Both of our parents would've killed me. "Will. You. Marry me?" I asked slowly, in a voice a bit more raspy than the one I would've liked to use, holding up the ring and staring up at her in adoration.

Lizzie shrugged, smiling wryly. "Sure. Why not?" she said with a laugh. My stomach flipped suddenly for some reason, and I cursed the tofu casserole I'd been tricked into eating. I slipped the ring on her finger, pressed an affectionate kiss to her hand, and then promptly started jumping up and down and celebrating. And doing some celebratory dancing. There was a nice amount of laughter and applause.

"Ahem." Derek cleared his throat, interrupting the celebrations and fixing the both of us with a severe look. I remembered he'd said we were going to tell the real story this time. "Tell him why not, Nora," he urged, making crazy eyes at Lizzie. "Tell him why you said maybe." We heard some gasps throughout the room, and our parents looked a combination of sheepish and annoyed. "_I'll_ tell him why not... Because _she_ hadn't told her _own_ children. And Nora had to make sure they were okay with it." Lizzie as Nora gave me an apologetic look and said maybe. I frowned, barely stifling a scowl.

That was Marti's cue, so she popped into the room like a little ray of sunshine. "I'm Casey, and I like Toronto, and I don't want to live with George and his weirdo kids!" she proclaimed, stomping her feet dramatically and tossing her ridiculous hair in the affronted way Casey sometimes did. Everyone started laughing, half at how ridiculous she looked, and half at how ridiculous she was acting (and probably also at how very Casey-like it was).

"Meanwhile, in London, Ontario, little Marti was ticked-off too," Derek continued, making that ridiculous gesture. He liked being the narrator, being omniscient and godlike, but why wouldn't he? Didn't he always presume to know everything and have godlike abilities.

Casey half-crawled into the room, moving forward on her knees and coming to kneel next to me. "Forget it, Daddy! Five kids in one house, that's way too many! _I'm_ the only girl, and I like it that way," she pronounced decisively, looking up at me and cuddling the teddy bear closer to her chest. Derek cleared his throat again.

"And little Marti's big brother Derrrek wasn't too thrilled either..." he continued, eying the doorway and throwing out an arm. Nothing happened. Clearly Sebastian was supposed to come out. Derek sighed and raised his voice a little. "I said, and Marti's big brother Derrrek didn't want any new sisters either!" he practically shouted. Sebastian stumbled out of the kitchen, trying to swagger like Derek.

He stopped next to Casey amidst lots of applause and giggles and lowered his sunglasses, shooting Marti a look of disdain. "Yeah, Dad. Nora's nice and all, but her daughter's a nightmare. I'm not living with that psycho! She has cooties!" he drawled, gesturing at Casey-Marti, who gasped and gave him an indignant look worthy of the real Casey. I saw Dad and Nora chuckling. Casey looked less than amused.

"Well, I don't want to live with that gross boy either! He's rude and mean and always has to get what he wants," Marti continued, giving C a stink face. She walked over to Lizzie, giving her an imploring look. "I'm really sorry, Mom, but I don't think I can do this. I can't live with him," she said apologetically but with resolve, like she'd committed herself to this decision no matter how much it would hurt her mother. Lizzie looked sad then, and began pretending to cry, letting out fake sobs.

She grabbed the ring and pulled it off her finger, handing it back to me. It felt cold in my hand. "I'm sorry, George, but I can't marry you if it's going to make Casey so unhappy," she told me in a wavering voice, turning back to look at Marti-Casey, who had crossed her arms over her chest. "My kids come first, you know that," she said, folding my fingers over the ring as she'd done before but holding onto my hand. She sniffed. "It's going to be so hard to be without you," Lizzie lamented, leaning on my shoulder and pretending to cry.

I did my best to look like I'd just had my heart broken, not that I knew what that felt like (yet). I wrapped an arm around her comfortingly, and Marti stepped forward, looking appropriately conflicted and guilty, no doubt remembering the story of Operation Disengagement. "George Venturi..." she called out. I turned, raising my hand. "You're a sweet and kind man. And you have nice hair." I smoothed my hair for affect, and Nora snorted, eyes kind of glassy. "And I know you're nice to my mom and that it's not your fault that you have an _extremely_ rude son, and that living with him will make me miserable," she said.

Lizzie turned back to look at Marti, eyes disbelieving. "Casey, what are you saying?" she asked tremulously.

Marti sighed in one of those "oh-I-am-so-gonna-regret-this-later" ways Casey sometimes did. "I'm saying..." she got down on her knees and scooted closer to me. I saw the fond look on Casey's face and caught the same nostalgic expression on Derek's, though whether it was from the memory or Marti's acting was beyond my guess. "George, will you marry my mom?" I thought idly that this was perhaps the nicest Marti had been to me in months, even though we were both pretending to be other people.

I grinned hesitantly and turned, first to look at the real Derek, and then to look at Sebastian, who just looked bored. Kind of like the real Derek. "I don't know what to say... but maybe Derek does," I suggested, nodding my head in Casey-Marti's direction.

Sebastian made a face. "Oh, for the love of Peter!" Everyone laughed, and Sebastian made his way over to us, turning to Liz. He bit his lip and looked up to her. "Um, Nora, as crazy as it is that someone as great as you would fall for someone like my dad, it's, uh... crazier for me to stand in your way. So, yeah, my dad'll marry you," he said sheepishly, reluctantly, sounding so much like Derek that it physically startled me. So that's what Derek had whispered to him, the exact words, verbatim.

"He will?" Lizzie asked in a voice that was half-giggle, half-sob, looking up at me in amazement.

I grinned back at her, removing my arm from around her shoulders. "Will I ever!" I proclaimed in a low voice, realizing how close I was to Lizzie for the first time. How close I'd stayed to her, I should say.

Lizzie laughed. It was a beautiful sound. "Can I have the ring back?" she asked, waving her hand. I took her hand and, for the second time that night, placed the ring on her finger. Something heavy settled in my stomach, like a stone, but, in a way, it felt like a relief. I picked her up and spun her around then just to see the surprised look on her face. She gave me a cross look but wasn't able to sustain it even when I set her back down on the ground.

Derek cut in quickly with the narration, throwing me a curious yet intrigued look that hinted at questions I didn't want to answer, let alone be asked. "Obviously George and Nora didn't care what their kids thought. No, they got married anyway," Derek announced. A lot of laughter followed his statement, a lot of it from us, at the front Derek put up to seem bothered by that fact. He glanced around at all of us. "And now there are six kids, and they actually get along pretty well," he concluded fondly, sounding a bit surprised at it as he always did. I smiled at Lizzie, taking her hand, and she smiled back warmly.

Marti pressed a kiss to Sebastian's crown, picking him up and spinning him around. Casey rose to her feet awkwardly, ruining the moment. "Uh, except for Casey and Derek." Her and Derek's eyes met for one moment, one painful moment in which whatever truce they'd maintained started to crack.

Something dark and angry flickered in Derek's eyes, and I saw his jaw tighten minutely. "Except for Casey and Derek," he agreed through clenched teeth. He needed a moment to suppress the scowl and glare he wanted to express before clapping his hands. We all took a bow then, and Derek allowed some of his annoyance to seep away as our family members clapped. Then Derek got up, smiling brightly, and ran to the kitchen to retrieve the radio-CD player. "Now, you all must join me in the Derekus Dance. Everyone, grab a hat and follow me," he proclaimed, grabbing Nora and putting a black beret on her head.

He pressed the player, starting the music, and then bust out with the Derekus dance, waving his arms, lifting his legs and shaking his butt just a little. Dad once again snagged the pirate hat as I found a paperboy hat, Marti a princess crown and Lizzie a cloche. Someone else put a duck hat on, and Casey found this old ridiculous hat with a floppy brim that looked like something Felicia would wear. This time, Lizzie gleefully was the one to follow Derek in the pseudo-conga-line, putting a hand on his hip. I frowned but realized it was probably better off that someone kept him from Casey or Agnes, even if that someone was a girl with a ridiculous schoolgirl crush on him. Who knows what might've happened?

The predictable dance party ensued for a while as everyone started to let loose (some of the adults had overindulged in super alcoholic punch and eggnog). It was interrupted by the door bell ringing loudly and in repetitive succession. When it wasn't answered immediately, the ringing turned to loud knocks that shook the door. I could make out some shouting over the music and the wind outside but not well enough to actually hear what was being screamed. Marti sighed and went to open the door, since she was the closest. I was only mildly surprised to see Morgan at the door, face and clothes flecked with snow.

However, I was surprised to see the absolutely furious, insane look on his face. My surprise turned into outright shock when Marti closed the door in his face and told him to go away. Nora, who did not know Morgan, scolded Marti for being so rude. She wouldn't have said that if she'd ever met him. However, being himself, Morgan didn't take no for an answer and so he continued to bang on the door, screaming for Marti. Marti rolled her eyes and opened the door, causing Morgan to fall inside our house. He sort of looked halfway dead like that, but Marti took a step back and regarded him warily. "What are you doing here, Morgan?" she quipped irritably, very nonplussed by his arrival.

I frowned, wondering why she wasn't all over him like usual. Morgan made some weird low noise and got to his feet. "What the hell do you think I'm doing here, Marti? I've come to give you your Christmas present," he proclaimed, sounding like a complete nutter as he pulled a bizarrely wrapped gift out of his pocket. Marti rolled her eyes at him and took the gift reluctantly, as if she were afraid it was a bomb, which was a reasonable fear given who it was from. Then again, Marti probably would've enjoyed the explosion. She's odd like that.

She was wearing her I'm-just-humoring-you face since she liked presents, but she wasn't acting like his girlfriend. I noticed then that the present was a small box. The whole thing hadn't quite yet caught Derek's attention. He was surprisingly dancing with Lizzie, who was in heaven. I fought the urge to roll my eyes and turned my gaze back to my other sister. Marti opened the box and started scowling, looking up at Morgan in disbelief. "What the _hell_ is this supposed to mean? Is this some kind of joke?" Marti ejaculated, waving the box around in the air fast enough for me to just see a sparkle inside of it. She was practically hyperventilating now. "Where did you even get something like this? Or, better yet, _why_ did you even get something like this?" Marti screeched incredulously, still waving it around in the air.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I saw it, and it reminded me of you, Doll." Marti gaped at him, clearly needing more of an explanation. He sighed, looking down and seeming almost nervous. "And, look, Marts, I'm sorry. I was an ass, and I..."

Marti's eyes blazed, and it occurred to me that I'd never seen her that angry. She picked up one of the umbrellas by the door and whacked Morgan with it before anyone could say anything or stop her. I heard Nora and Dad both cry her name and attempt to make their way over, but I stopped them, sensing this was something Marti needed to take care of on her own. And yeah, so maybe I thought Marti was finally gonna kick his ass and I was enjoying it just a little. Sue me. "You're damn right, Morgan! You are an ass... And you coming here when I **obviously** don't want to see you just proves it!" Marti snapped, bringing the umbrella down hard on his head. "Now please tell me what the hell this "present" that you got me is because it cannot _possibly_ be what it seems like!" Marti demanded shrilly, once again waving the present in the air.

"Ow!" Morgan exclaimed, rubbing the top of his head and grimacing. "What the hell do you _think_ it is, Martina?" Marti knocked all the wind out of him with an umbrella to the gut, giving him an expectant look. Morgan sighed, deflating a bit. "This is so not at all going how I thought it would go." Marti frowned at him and threw the umbrella at his head.

"How the hell did you think it was gonna go, Morgan, after our last conversation?" Marti rejoined only with a lot more swearing that made our parents gasp. Yep, my little sister was still quite fond of the F-word. Her aim was a little wide, though, and Morgan ducked, dropping to the floor. The umbrella cracked a pane in our door and fell harmlessly to the ground. "Did you think you could just do some big stupid gesture and I'd forgive you and jump at the chance to be with you?" Silence. "Do I _look _like a freaking moron, Morgan?"

He was too busy shielding his head to answer but rolled over and gazed up at Marti a moment later. "You know, normally when you give a girl an engagement ring, she doesn't try to kill you," he quipped sardonically. I think everyone's jaws dropped at that sudden revelation. Derek whipped around so fast he almost fell over and would have if Liz hadn't steadied him. It was funny, too, because he hadn't said it that loud, but we were all just watching, dumbstruck. If any of us had been able to do anything, I'm sure my dad and myself would've stormed over to Morgan and said something to him, but none of us could really believe it. Nora looked faint, muttering things about how she didn't need to have another daughter getting married and generally freaking out.

"I'm sorry, Morgan, but at what point in this conversation were you proposing to me? Was that supposed to be it, 'cause that was pretty damn pathetic, you-" Marti was thunderous by this point, literally thunderous with rage. "I am THIRT-TEEN, you-" She said several words here that I can't print, but allow myself to say that they ended with -wit, -tard... and so forth. "Of all the amazingly **dumbasstastically **_retarded_ things to do, you come to my house on Christmas Eve and try to propose to me with a ring you probably stole from God-knows-who... and, oh, I'm sorry, did you forget that I'm _thirteen_ and TOO YOUNG TO MARRY ANYONE! And I don't want to marry anyone, least of all you, and did you really think I was gonna agree to marry you _just_ because you gave me a frigging ring? I'm sorry, do I look like Casey?" Marti screamed.

"Hey!" Casey piped up, offended. To be fair, she had accepted the two marriage proposals that had been offered to her. Marti, of course, ignored this, so caught up in her anger.

"And I'm not stupid either," Marti continued, kicking Morgan in the side. He got up sluggishly, and Marti waggled her finger in his face accusingly. "I know why you're doing this. And I gotta say, Morgan, that even if you put a ring on my finger... I'm _still_ not gonna have sex with you. So do us all a favor and screw off," Marti hissed, full of disgust. And just when I thought my jaw couldn't drop anymore, it did. Derek immediately came stalking over to all of us, completely furious. Realistically, I know I shouldn't have been so surprised because, well, hadn't I _always_ suspected that of Morgan? But this, this was just ridiculous!

Lizzie stomped over too, enraged at both Morgan and his ill intentions towards our sister and at the fact that he'd interrupted rare alone time with Derek. Marti actually looked genuinely disgusted at the prospect of sex, which was a relief, to be honest. So she was a normal thirteen-year-old then. Small wonders. Morgan did not do everyone a favor and screw off, which was quite unfortunate for him. Marti let out a sigh of frustration and threw the ring back at him. "God, Morgan, I dumped you weeks ago! Get over it! Find some other girl!" she shouted, attempting to push him out the door.

"No." Morgan held his ground, though, and pushed back. "You mean like you found Justin?" At Marti's surprised look, Morgan sneered. "Yeah, I know about that. How long did you wait... a day, maybe two?" I continued to gape at Marti. Wait, so not only had she dumped Morgan weeks ago, but she'd hooked up with her friend Justin? How did I not know any of this? Is this why she's been so weird lately?

Marti's eyes flashed dangerously. "He's good at jigsaw puzzles." I frowned, wondering if that was supposed to be code for something given all the venom Marti had uttered it with. Her jaw tightened and she actually spat on Morgan. "I can't believe I ever wasted my time with you. All you are is one big creep who can't take a hint! Stop stalking me, Morgan. I don't want you anymore, and dating you was the biggest mista-" Marti sniped, getting interrupted by Morgan's attempt to lunge at her. Derek, however, got in the middle of them, immediately catching Morgan and throwing him back, out the door.

Morgan gaped at him. "Who the hell is this, Marti, your new boyfriend?" he sneered, rubbing his chest where Derek had grabbed him. Derek's eyes blazed with an anger I had actually never before seen, and I knew that Morgan was getting his ass kicked one way or the other, probably within the next minute. He made to move towards Marti again, who was being pulled away by a worried Mom and Dad, who pushed her behind their backs and out of Morgan's sight.

"No, you asshole, I'm her big _brother_! And if I'd known that my sister ever dated a cockroach like you, I'd have squished you before you ever thought you could convince my sister to touch you," Derek growled, shoving Morgan once again and baring his teeth at him. "Now leave before I make you wish you'd never heard the name Venturi," Derek threatened, meaning it. Morgan was too dumb to realize that Derek would actually follow through on that threat, but then again, he didn't know that Derek was a lifelong hockey player. He tried to come back into the house, and Derek cracked him right in the jaw with such force that he flew backwards, slipped on the steps, and landed flat on his ass on our sidewalk. I attempted to peer out the door to see if he'd cracked his head on the pavement (which I wouldn't have minded but knew it would be a bitch to clean up). He hadn't, but he lay there, spread-eagled and unconscious.

Derek was still seething, of course, but he was a little happier, I think, for having got out that tiniest bit of aggression. So then, of course, we had to call the police and say he was stalking my thirteen-year-old sister and could they please collect him off of our lawn since he was mucking it up and none of us wanted to have a dead man on our conscience? Derek turned to Marti and hugged her but then shook her and got very serious with her. They went off to have a private talk, and when Derek came back, he complained, "Why do _I_ always have to watch my sisters? Can't they pick someone to date or make-out with who isn't a giant turdbucket?"

Casey took offense, but this time he actually wasn't referring to her. Lizzie's cheeks colored, but no one noticed as she went to get ice for Derek's hand, which was bruising up quite nicely, since it wasn't every day he popped someone one. I got up and drained a glass of punch before heading to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. Derek just about chugged the punch. And the wine. And the eggnog. The rest of our family was too busy gossipping, quietly chatting, or taking care of the Morgan situation to notice or comment.

Liz sighed, fanning herself. "Wasn't it hot, Ed, when he punched Morgan out?" I gave Lizzie an incredulous look. When had she ever applauded violence? Oh, right, when Derek was doing it. I rolled my eyes at her, remembering how irritated she got with me when I had earlier expressed some of my frustrations regarding Morgan. All that garbage about having to respect Marti's incredibly ill-advised, poorly-considered thirteen-year-old choices.

And, silly me, I even thought that, after that, nothing could shock me anymore. Not with Derek icing his knuckles, Marti's ex passed out on our lawn to be picked up by cops, my sister getting the second degree from everyone, and so on... But I was wrong. Because of course Derek and Casey needed to have ONE. MORE. DRAMATIC. MOMENT. Because apparently getting in a food fight and making Casey storm off after dinner by using me and Lizzie to reenact events from their past wasn't enough.

So this is how it went down. Morgan was collected and sent home or to jail, and the police were talked to. Then our extended family decided the drama was over and that it was only proper to leave, which was a relief because, well, it was stressful being around them and having them witness the drama that is our daily lives. The rest of us, excepting Marti, who was still getting yelled at, and Sebastian, who'd been put to bed by Felicia, were forced to clean up, even Derek, with his injured hand. We all trudged into the living room, to see if there was anything important left, but a weary Nora and George said anything that was left could wait until tomorrow morning before our family returned. _Why_ they would want to return in droves I honestly have no idea (maybe they're addicted to the drama or just don't have any better place to go?).

Our ever-considerate cousin Vicky had just called to say she and Truman were coming back from Derek's place, and I really hoped they weren't sauced like last time. It all seemed to happen in slow motion since we were all just about so exhausted we could've dropped. It began the same way all these little incidents do, with yet another competition between brother and sister. In this case, they were racing up the stairs, probably each attempting to get to the bathroom first, pushing and shoving as always by the first step, but they stopped struggling on the stairs once they realized we'd gone dead silent. Casey and Derek were standing directly under the mistletoe, which only seemed to come to attention when there was some couple in its immediate vicinity.

Liz and I stared up at it in silence, Lizzie's cheeks a faint pink since she'd hung it. I managed to catch her eye, and she looked away immediately, indicating she was probably thinking of the kiss she'd gotten underneath it yesterday, which made me want to throw up all over again. It wasn't just the two of us, either, who were frozen there, staring at them. Mom, Dad, and even Marti stood stock still, gazing up at them in wonder and anticipation of what would happen next. I think we all knew that something would irrevocably change if they did kiss, like something would break off and shatter into a million pieces, never to be repaired. It was as if all motion had ceased, as if we were far out in space where there was only blackness and invisible waves of energy. It was silent enough to hear the sound of the universe.

Casey and Derek both looked up at the mistletoe, registering what it was and freezing in position, elbows still touching. Then they looked down and just... The two of them just looked at each other, staring right into the other's eyes, for one long, breathless minute that seemed to go on forever. They did nothing but stare and the moment became increasingly potent as they continued to hang in stasis, to be suspended over this ravine, so close to the edge and danger. No one dared to say a word to them either way.

Casey was the one who broke the spell, breaking Derek's stare, casting self-conscious glances around the room, eyes lingering on each of us who were watching. Her eyes landed on Derek once more, and she shook her head no slowly. She backed away from him slowly. **"No."** It seemed to hang in the air and echo. Her voice was firm, but the smile she offered was timid, wavering. "Sorry, Der, but it's never gonna happen," she said in a voice that was a bit softer but no less firm. It was not unduly rude or offensive but rather coolly polite and certain, her reaction. The way she said it, you could tell it was sort of supposed to be a joke, but of course it fell completely flat.

Derek just stared at her in a mixture of disbelief and something rather akin to betrayal. Then Casey turned and noticed we were all staring, and her face hardened. "_Well_," she demanded, placing her hands on the banister, "What are you all staring at?" There was a strain of hysteria in her voice. It had been a trying day, and, I assumed, judging by the red blossoming on her cheeks, she wasn't up for the scrutiny either. "There's _nothing_ to see here," she said pointedly, shooting Derek a look and turning on her heel, eyes flashing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed like a sane person," she replied before proceeding speedily up the stairs. There was a peculiar edge in her voice as she said it, something brittle and cold like glass.

As for my brother, he just stood there, staring at her retreating back. He didn't go after he as he might have or go about his business as usual but merely stood there as if waiting for something. Maybe he was numb or in shock; I can't vouch for my brother's emotions. Then I saw his eyes close and his face fall, and I think that look might've been defeat. Either way, it was certainly unfamiliar to my brother's face. Nonetheless, Derek recovered pretty quickly. He doesn't usually wear his feelings on his face, my brother, so that moment of vulnerability was an aberration. I caught a flicker of something burning in my brother's eyes, watched his jaw harden, and I knew a rage had begun as he began to trudge upstairs.

It gave me a brief moment to reflect on what had just (almost) occurred... or what could've happened, I suppose. And the more I thought about it, the more I think that the world might've ended then, had they kissed. Our family certainly wouldn't—_couldn't_—have ever been the same after seeing that. Maybe, finally, all the illusions and masks would've fallen away, and we could've all been honest with each other for once. Or maybe it didn't matter. Either way, for me especially, the illusion was wearing thin, and I could only not question it for so much longer.

Liz snapped me out of my reverie with a shove to the shoulder. "Come on, Ed. We should be getting to bed too," she murmured, sounding sleepy and worn-out. Her voice was gentler than I would've expected, given what we'd witnessed. Maybe she was as confused as I was if not more about what we'd seen, still trying to work through it herself. Either way, she linked her arm with mine, gave me a sort of half-smile, and we started up the stairs, leaning on each other and the banisters. It had been such a long day.

So, of course, just as I was gearing down for sleep and to finally reach a lower, more reasonable stress level that day, it only follows that some sort of dramatic situation should occur involving Lizzie and myself. I heard a gasp as we were midway up the stairs and turned around on wobbly legs to see what the problem was. Marti was stony-faced, pointing above our heads. "You're standing under the mistletoe," she said in a dull yet vaguely frosty voice. I frowned, wondering what she was playing at or if she was offering me some sort of challenge. Our parents' faces answered nothing, so I turned back to Lizzie, raising a brow in question.

Lizzie sighed raggedly, casting a furtive glance at the mistletoe and at the top of the stairs. Then she surprised me by putting her hands on my shoulders firmly, lining us up. "Well, Edwin, are you gonna kiss me or not?" she challenged, gesturing to the mistletoe above us with her eyes, as if it were some sort of higher power or law. The glint in her eyes was half its usual luster but still enough to taunt me. "It's not like it's our first time," she muttered. I shrugged, not looking at any of our family, as the mere sight of them would remind me just how bad an idea kissing Lizzie in front of them was. Then I steeled myself by reminding myself how tired I was and that I hardly had the energy to do more than sloppily press my lips to Lizzie's like a good brother. Not that a good brother would actually kiss his sister on the mouth, but you see what I mean.

I sighed and shrugged, resigning myself to it. She'd phrased it like a challenge, and the Venturi in me wouldn't stand for backing down from a challenge, especially one like that from Lizzie. Besides, if it's what Lizzie wants, I usually wind up doing it anyway. We were standing in the exact same spot and position as our elder siblings had not even three minutes ago. "Oh, what the hell," I mumbled, putting my hands on both sides of Lizzie's face and pulling a rather surprised Lizzie to me, who stumbled into me a mess of flailing limbs. I closed my eyes as I pressed my closed, paper-dry lips against hers, reminding myself to keep it as close to G-rated as I possibly could. Lizzie exhaled deeply, and I felt her breath on my lips, my face.

I hated that it felt so much like performance art. It was an okay kiss, I suppose, but I wasn't really getting anything out of it. With this thought in mind, the thought of ending this peck that had gone on much longer than it was supposed to, like we were characters in a movie, I removed my hands from her face, releasing her. I started to open my eyes, to begin to pull back, but it was Lizzie, whose eyes were still closed, who ultimately pulled back first. Her teeth caught my bottom lip briefly, nipping it as she pulled away, so quick that hopefully our family had missed it but long enough to make me ache for the sensation of her teeth scraping my bottom lip. Lizzie knew I liked that, the same way I liked it when she bit her lip, and she was _so_ teasing me.

I fixed her with a look as she pulled away. Liz smirked, looking a bit flushed since she'd just remembered that a substantial portion of our family had witnessed that. And yes, that was awkward as... I didn't look at Dad or Mom, not wanting to see their reactions, and I had absolutely no desire to see Marti's reaction since I was fairly certain how she'd react—disgust and annoyance. Nonetheless, I looked over Lizzie's shoulder, up the stairs, and was vaguely startled to see Derek still standing there, poised with one foot on the landing and the other on the last stair.

He'd been watching us this whole time? It both angered me and kind of creeped me out to know that he'd been watching. And what he undoubtedly must think now! The look on his face surprised me, though, because his jaw was still tight, his eyes still sharp. He was eying us with something rather like hate, rather like anger, an emotion that it took me a while to place. I had never before seen that particular expression on Derek's face, but I'd seen echoes of it in mine, and suddenly it hit me what it was—envy. I blinked at him, utterly astonished. What can Derek possibly envy me for? It's not like my life's particularly great; I'm in high school, living with my parents and crazy siblings, and I don't have a girlfriend or bitching social status. I frowned, but the look on his face remained unaltered. The force of his stare just about burned, and it wasn't letting up any time soon.

But then Lizzie nudged me, pushing me up the stairs, and Derek headed for the sanctuary of his room, unable to resist slamming the door. Lizzie was confused; she hadn't seen what I had. Was it my relationship with Lizzie that he coveted, or was he just envious that I'd gotten a kiss tonight and he hadn't? It was hardly something to envy, no matter how brutal Casey's rejection was. Lizzie headed upstairs, but I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and go to the bathroom. When I emerged a few minutes later, minty fresh and ready for bed, I noticed I wasn't the only one in the hallway.

Casey's back faced me. I didn't really know what Casey was doing, but she definitely looked a little paranoid. I was tempted to mess with her, but Lizzie would undoubtedly give me crap about it later, so I started to head for my bedroom. "Derek, what part of go away do you not understand?" Casey bit out, releasing a breath through her teeth. I froze. Derek was nowhere in the hallway; in fact, it was deserted except for Casey and me. "I can hear you there breathing, you know. Stalker."

She must be referring to me then. I didn't think she'd notice, but the fact that I hadn't said anything or gotten very close to her should tip her off that I'm not Derek. "Not Derek, Casey," I replied, moving a bit closer. It was half worth it to see her whirl around suddenly, a frightened look on her face. She clutched her chest, still strangely startled. I jerked my head towards the stairs. "Not even a stalker."

"Don't scare me like that, Edwin!" she quipped, whacking me in the chest as Lizzie would. I grunted, rubbing my chest. That had actually hurt. I was still wondering why she'd mistaken me for Derek in the first place and wondering why she seemed so jumpy all of a sudden. Casey frowned, regarding me curiously. "Then why do you smell like him?" she asked quietly.

I quirked a brow, having forgotten that I was wearing Derek's aftershave. Is that why she thought I was Derek, my scent? Casey either has the nose of a bloodhound, or she's particularly attuned to that scent for some reason or another. I thought it especially strange either way since, aside from the aftershave, nothing about me smelled like Derek. We use different shampoo and different cologne and various hair products. Derek uses fancy shampoo and a kind of musky leathery cologne. "I was a bit rushed in the bathroom this morning. Put on Derek's aftershave by mistake. I wasn't aware it was that noticeable," I commented a bit pointedly.

It had also occurred to me that she must've gotten pretty close to Derek's face and neck in order to tell what aftershave he wore in the first place. It wasn't an especially strong scent, and aside from Casey, no one else had noticed. I thought it rather bizarre, actually, that Lizzie hadn't noticed I smelled somewhat differently, given how close we'd been the entire night and the fact that she knows how I smell better than perhaps anyone. Casey gave me a funny look. "Just his aftershave?"

I nodded, not really getting where this was coming from or what she meant. Were we really having a conversation about me wearing my brother's aftershave by mistake? "Anyway, night, Casey," I said awkwardly, heading for the stairs to my bedroom. I stopped for a minute and saw her head back to her room, forgetting her purpose in the hallway. When I turned around and stepped up, I ran into Lizzie. I suppose it was what I deserved after scaring Casey, either way I sort of jumped, landed two stairs down, and had to grab onto the banister to make sure I didn't fall the rest of the way down. Lizzie cocked her head and offered me a bemused smile, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Then she let out a chuckle as I tried to steady myself and pointed up at the ceiling. I didn't see anything, but Lizzie had, in a fit of mischievousness, hung the other sprig of mistletoe at the base of the stairs, so that any visitor to my room and myself would be honor-bound to kiss if we happened to meet on the stairs. It would be roughly equivalent to me nailing mistletoe to Lizzie's doorway (were she still sleeping and residing there, of course). If she wanted to kiss Derek, she ought to have done something more like that. I idly wondered if Derek would even kiss her if they found themselves in such a position... probably on the cheek, right? "What is it with mistletoe and stairs in this house?" I griped.

Lizzie's eyes narrowed, and she once again gestured to the mistletoe. I noted that she'd changed into a lacy camisole and a Christmas-y pair of plaid shorts that didn't leave a lot to the imagination. Not that I need to imagine any of that, or that I should be. "Oh, come on, Ed. You might as well give me a real kiss this time," Lizzie scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall. She yawned then, looking bored. "I don't have all night, Bro. Gotta be in bed before midnight or Santa won't give me any presents tomorrow," Liz continued a bit sarcastically. We both knew that our parents set up the stockings and presents a little after midnight. The magic had been spoiled a long time ago.

There she was, framing it as a challenge again. To be honest, I didn't particularly feel like kissing her, especially not because of this stupid Norse tradition. I kind of just wanted to go to bed and not have to think about complicated topics like the relationship dynamics in this family. "Fine," I muttered, heading up to Lizzie. Also, why am I suddenly the one who has to kiss her all the time? She seems to have no trouble kissing me, and she ought to at least give me plausible deniability here! I put my hand around the nape of her neck and crashed my lips into hers. Liz bit my bottom lip as she opened her mouth to mine, and I let out a low groan. As I charged forward, Lizzie half-fell, half slammed into the wall. I pushed against her, pinning her even more completely to the wall, and Lizzie threw her arms around my neck and pulled me closer still.

Her lips were hard and unrelenting against mine, as if she was trying to devour me whole. Maybe she'd needed this just as much as I did. She tasted like gingerbread, punch, and icing, spicy and sweet. And I wanted more. I dropped my hand low to the small of her back, my other hand pressing firmly against the wall, keeping the both of us upright. Lizzie shifted under my touch, pressing her pelvis against mine, aligning our hips. She dragged her pelvis against mine, hips knocking against mine as her teeth swept across my lower lip. I tried very hard not to moan and almost succeeded.

I grunted and gasped a little when her hand crept up under my shirt, dragging her nails lightly against my lower back. I was very aware of the fact that her breasts were pressed firmly against my chest, _very_ aware of the softness of them, of the way her chest heaved with exertion against mine. I pulled away from her briefly, nearly seeing stars due to lack of oxygen (Lizzie could hold her breath a lot longer than I could). I blinked blearily, trying to catch my breath, unable to think for once.

Lizzie made some kind of whining noise, and I started to trail my lips down her jawline reflexively. She sighed and went kind of limp against me, curling her fingers in my hair. I'd just started to suck on her pulse point when she pulled my head up and dragged my lips back to hers. Somewhere in the confusion, my hand found her breast, thumb roughly tracing the swell of it. Lizzie gasped, eyes wide, and I froze, realizing where my hand was and what it was doing. My thumb accidentally slipped and brushed against a nipple, causing Lizzie to let out a sort of mewling sound. I was instantaneously rock hard (but a part of me knew I'd been aroused more or less from the moment Lizzie crashed into the wall). My oxygen-deprived brain couldn't make me do anything, so I just stood there dumbly, feeling guilty. Lizzie bit her lip, staring up at me with some dark, indecipherable look in her eyes, and I looked away, unable to bear the force of that stare.

I removed my hands from her and extracted myself with some discomfort and awkwardness, stepping back and feeling my face burn. She was just staring at me, the very picture of surprise, lips full and swollen, hair come free, clothes rumpled, clearly all hot and bothered. I was glad the thin camisole was evergreen and not the white, semi-transparent one she seemed to like more, or else it would be impossible for me to look away. I was still breathless and not exactly thinking straight, not that I'd been thinking at all for the past however long we'd been making out. I just about cringed as the full force of what I'd just done—groping her in public, in the stairway to the bedroom we were currently sharing, where anyone, _anyone_ could see us!—hit me.

A guilty reminder of how good it felt, of how soft the skin had been when the neckline of her camisole had slipped down and my hand had brushed against bare skin, struck me dumb. I swallowed hard, trying not to think of what we'd just been doing, and of course that was impossible. It was the first time I'd touched her there since... a long time. But Truman had done the same, had touched her even more brazenly, so... I cleared my throat awkwardly, pushing strands of wayward hair out of my eyes. My hair was getting too long. "I... I'm s-sorry. I don't know what came over me. I... I didn't mean to v-violate your-"

God, did that sound as awkward to her as it did to me? Apparently it did because Lizzie stopped me, eyes still wider than usual, placing her hand on the inside of my elbow and offering me a shaky but reassuring smile. "You... got caught up in the moment, and so did I," Lizzie remarked quietly, hand leaving the crook of my elbow soon after she said it, almost like she'd been burned. She licked her lips, and... God, did she have to look so wickedly satisfied doing it? It was all I could do to keep it together and not lose my everloving mind right then and there! She shrugged almost coyly. "It's Christmas Eve... late... We're both tired, and there was so much food and..." She swallowed. "How much alcohol did Derek put in all the drinks again? I'm surprised we're both still standing," she murmured with a nervous titter, looking down quick.

Well, at least I wasn't the only one who was embarrassed. Yes, Lizzie, let's blame that on the alcohol and the fact that both of us are very hormonal and need to get off. I let out a slow sigh, nodding to her responses. That would work. I gestured to the top of the stairs and turned on my heel and more or less left her there. I was still trying to catch my breath, cursing the few too many cups I'd had of Derek's magic punch. That was obviously the reason why my thinking had gone all fuzzy. I sighed. I would apologize to Lizzie in the morning for my clearly unacceptable conduct. A wicked voice in the back of my head that I give absolutely no credence to whatsoever countered that it hadn't heard her complaining when I touched her, but I shut that voice out irritably.

I really need to get my wits together here, but this night has been a long one for everyone, and I think we're all a little discombobulated for one reason or the other. So much had happened, it was difficult to believe it all. Also, despite all of my valiant attempts not to think about what had just transpired in my stairwell, I was still miserably hard. I thought of Lizzie downstairs in the bathroom (trying not to wonder what she was doing in there) and contemplated going down later or rubbing one out right now, trying to gage exactly how tired I was, but the thought didn't especially appeal to me (especially the latter option, since it was almost a guarantee Lizzie would walk in on me, and I did not want to make things any _more_ awkward than they already were). I also had this vague inkling that just as soon as I'd managed to resolve a little bit of tension, something else would crop up to replace it, and I'd have the same problem all over again.

So, with all of this in mind, I flopped down belly-first on my bed, very glad Marti wasn't sleeping in here and resolving to just go to bed. After all, what else could possibly happen tonight to shock me? What else could possibly happen? My ability to be surprised had diminished to nothingness after everything that had happened.

The answer was, of course, nothing. I would go to bed, and in a while, Lizzie would return and fall asleep next to me, no fuss, no trouble. We would wake up tomorrow morning far too early but somewhat better rested, and then we'd wait for some sort of Christmas disaster to ensue, probably another confrontation with Casey and Derek. And we would deal with that event when we came to it, all very rational.

But, a niggling thought told me it wouldn't, no, _couldn't_ be that easy. My life never is. I had this foreboding tingling feeling that something big was about to happen, that I was missing something, that something here wasn't quite right, but I dismissed it, well aware that I was so tired and so muddled that I was thinking nonsense.

Everything was as normal as it could possibly be, and nothing was wrong, at least, nothing that couldn't be fixed tomorrow morning.

Loren ;*

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, and I'll try my best to have the next chapter up as soon as possible since I know you're all looking forward to it. I love reviews, by the way, so feel free to tell me what you think.

Oh, and just to tide you over, here's a juicy tidbit from the next chapter. This time they're slices of the finished product.

Number One:

"Unless you do something about it," Derek challenged, staring her down. Casey's eyes flicked back to his, evaluating the statement silently. He paused for a moment, allowing it to sink in before gesturing to her. "So, Case, the question remains... _are_ you gonna do something about it or not?" For a long, long moment, Casey just stared at him, wondering how to take that.

Number Two:

His expression darkened further, if that was possible. "Face it like a grown-up, Casey!" Derek barked. Casey jumped, startled. "Something happened between us, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, and one day, you're going to have to face up to that and ask yourself what it meant. To you. To me." His hand finally made contact with her shoulder, gripping it fiercely and trying to hold on, as if to hold her there. She didn't (couldn't) move. Derek's eyes met hers briefly. "You don't do things for no reason, Case... And maybe then it'll be too late, and you'll have wasted half your life on things that didn't matter. Do you really want that for yourself?" he continued urgently.

Number Three (just 'cause it's funny!):

My brother laughed loudly, amused at the way she'd said it, all serious-like. Casey could be very serious at times, but when she was attempting to be threatening, it was more comical than actually menacing nine times out of ten. This time was no exception, what with the pale pink flowered nightdress and her hair, loose and wavy. "Huh. Well, at least I got a piece of that ass," Derek quipped, sloppily reaching down to grab her ass for emphasis (and probably his own enjoyment). He managed a stroke and a brief squeeze, and this sleazy look spread across his face as he did it, which made my mind go in several very unpleasant directions.

Just to keep your spirits up, you know! Thanks so much for all the great reviews, my lovelies!


	25. Thrust

First off, I'm totally breaking my own rule in posting this chapter now because I like to be ahead of the curve, but I figure it's Christmas Eve, and this chapter takes place at approximately midnight or so on Christmas... and I'm giving you a Christmas present. And maybe this'll force me to write a bit more on this story, eh. So here it is, the chapter you all have been waiting for. Hope it lives up to the hype.

One reviewer, Sarah, mentioned the possibility of Liz having a crush on Edwin and said that she could be using her crush on Derek to get what she wants (which I presume is Edwin? Or is it Derek?). Firstly, this is an interesting theory and probably within the realm of possibility. Especially interesting since it goes along with Edwin's own suggestion about how to get Derek to pay attention, not that he voiced that thought aloud... but then again, he didn't voice the thought about using Truman aloud either, and she did that, so... However, I would say that that scenario is fairly unlikely... Lizzie's not really a manipulative person (or very subtle), and I don't think she would try and manipulate Edwin like that by playing him against his brother, especially knowing how sensitive a topic Derek is with Edwin. I would say that Liz is definitely attracted to Edwin, as he's attracted to her, but a bit more confused about it. In the end, it's more or less like Edwin said: if Lizzie was interested in him, she would have what she wanted right now, and she wouldn't really need to resort to a trick to get it since she knows, on some level, that Edwin will do just about anything she asks of him... and obviously she's noticed that he reciprocates the kisses and whatnot, so she wouldn't really need to convince him much, per se. While her actions do cause Edwin to get somewhat jealous, jealousy doesn't quite affect him like it affects Derek, doesn't quite possess him as strongly because Ed's not as needy and, in some respects, he's much more closed about his emotions. If it did, she would've wanted Edwin to be screaming at her right after she kissed Truman.

Also, since you and I both have no idea how many Dasey videos I watched to come up with this fic, this chapter, in a way, goes out to all the makers of those videos. For helping me get inspired and figure out random logistical things. But mostly the inspiration thing since this isn't a Dasey story, and well, writing them requires a bit of stamina, and I dunno, I needed to re-find my ability to write them in a way, I guess.

Also, yay to me 'cause I finished my goal of finishing their confrontation, which composes the vast and more important majority of this chapter. I wasn't so sure I would, but finishing it was totally worth it. It's very, um, charged. I just hope I didn't like, horribly botch it or let anyone down, seriously. I tried to make it as epic as I could, y'know. And, anyways, in the next chap you get to see a bit of their reactions the morning after... Casey, Vicky, Derek, and so on. Also, I had no idea the end part was going to be that long, but I kinda like it since I feel it gives it all some well-needed perspective.

But, I warn you, don't think this chapter's the most important... or that it's the most revealing. There are still a lot of questions Edwin doesn't want to think or ask or answer. And a lot of those questions involve specifics. But, seriously, the chapter after this one is a lot more important to the fic (you also get to see a nice, interesting slice of D/C post-Christmas Eve interaction... and there's gonna be fireworks!). Like, seriously, you have no idea. But enough about that. I hope that you enjoy the chapter and that it's everything you expected and more. Or that it leaves you with more questions.

* * *

**Thrust:** 1. A force which increases the velocity of an object. 2. A force that causes propulsion.

_**Note:** When a system accelerates mass in one direction, said mass will create a force of equal magnitude in the opposite direction._

* * *

Let's just call a spade a spade here.

This is a polite fiction, in case you haven't realized, where there's one truth everyone knows but never refers to directly. And we prefer to pretend than face the ugly truth. But me, me, I'm done pretending. Tonight the facade shattered for me once and for all.

Despite my best efforts to sleep, I found myself quite unable to drift off, still full of troublesome thoughts even though I was so tired I felt I could drop. I tried everything I could think of: counting sheep, reciting the alphabet backwards, running over the hockey statistics Derek had forced me to memorize in high school when I was the bookkeeper for his bookie operations. Nothing seemed to work. Dully, I remembered reading somewhere that getting off made you sleep more soundly, or something to that effect. It had been a while, and the kiss earlier had gotten me all worked up...

I debated it for a moment but found myself too tired to clearly sustain any one line of thought. Still, I found myself leaving the warmth of my bed for the bathroom, intent on a glass of water at the very least. I could taste it, the thickness of my sudden thirst. Just as I was about to touch the bottom stair, Casey's door opened. I stopped upon seeing the mildly vexed look on her face. She was headed downstairs, no doubt to do something she'd forgotten or neurotically bake cookies or arrange presents artfully under the tree. She'd barely made it to the staircase when she ran, quite literally, into my brother.

What I saw in the hallway was, by all means, an utterly singular occurrence. In the dimness of the hall, I could've sworn I saw Derek's eyes gleam with something akin to malice. Casey scowled at him and jumped back and away from him like she'd been burned. "Just the girl I was looking for," Derek drawled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. His eyes ran over her, girlish pink nightwear and all, tracing every slope, plane, and curve of her like water. His stare was dark, intense, and unrelenting, unceasing. Casey failed to repress a shudder under his gaze. Derek's smirk was a tiny sliver of victory.

If I'd known the significance of what I was about to witness, I might've gone to get that glass of water after all. There was something strikingly predatory about my brother then, about the slow, cautious way he moved towards Casey and the way she cringed away. "Do you mind?" Casey cut in a bit hesitantly, voice wavering slightly. Derek raised a brow, and Casey pushed on in a bit of a firmer voice. "I have things I need to do downstairs." Her voice was overly cool, to the point where it was obvious that it was a bit of an act. She made an awkward gesture, half-pantomiming Derek stepping to the side.

If she thought a response that pitiful would be remotely effective with my brother, she was sorely mistaken, if not a bit delusional. Derek let out a low chuckle, like her actions, her attempt to be brave, amused him. He took a big step towards her, and Casey took a half-step back without realizing it. Then Derek smiled that terrible shark smile of his, seeming to fully come into possession of the entire hallway. "Oh, _you're_not going anywhere, Sis," he countered darkly, daring her to challenge him. There was a mocking undertone in his voice and the way he regarded her. "It's time we had a talk, you and I."

Something about the way the shadows fell on his face, accenting the angularity and sharpness of his features, made this proclamation seem ominous. Indeed, because of the way the hallway was lit, nearly all of the light fell on Casey like some sort of angelic spotlight while it bathed my brother in darkness. Casey swallowed hard, eyes already scanning the hall for potential escape routes. Derek leaned forward, and it looked like he could grab her and entrap her at any moment if he so chose. "We'll talk later. In the daylight," Casey said. It was not a question or a request, but it was more of a concession than I thought she'd make. After all, she'd just agreed to speak with him.

An ugly, irritated look passed over Derek's face. He took another step forward, invading her space, hulking over her. "We'll talk _now_, Princess." He wasn't about to give her a chance to weasel out of it. Casey's eyes narrowed at the petname. She foolishly attempted to side-step him, but Derek was faster than she was. He moved to block her way, taking another step closer to her. "What makes you think you're going anywhere?"

Casey sighed wearily and gave Derek her best bored expression. "This is really childish," she said pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest. She leaned forward a little too, looking him straight in the face with a surprising frankness in her expression. "I am _not_ playing games with you, Venturi," Casey said levelly in a tone that, had she been speaking to another person, would've left no room to question or comment further. But Casey was speaking to my brother, and that tone would barely give him a second of pause. "We're a little too old for that," she added a moment later, not quite smiling. Then she whirled around and swept past him with all the grace and skill of a ballerina, holding her neck high and proud like a swan.

Derek sighed privately, massaging his temples. "Something's gotta give," he muttered through his teeth, turning around swiftly, like a rocket. He half-lunged after her blindly, though I couldn't exactly see what he was doing in the dark. I just saw Derek's back, muscles stretched tight underneath his shirt. He was dressed for bed in an old t-shirt, white with bright green trim, and plaid flannels in similar shades of emerald and evergreen. I saw his hand come up in a sliver of light, clutching Casey's wrist in a death grip. He pulled her back up the stairs to the landing, turning a startled and already-struggling Casey around.

Then Derek moved her off to the side a little, blocking her potential escape route with his body. His expression was rather grim, his lips and jaw tight with irritation. "I'm not playing either, Casey," Derek hissed, still not releasing her wrist. No matter how hard she struggled, Derek managed to restrain her and keep her from bolting somehow. Derek exhaled through his nose. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Nut Case," Derek said warningly, eying her with suspicion. "I don't want to restrain you here, but I think we both have four years worth of things to say to each other. We need to talk. And we need to do it now," Derek continued with a strange urgency, staring her down like he was afraid she was going to bolt.

His every muscle was tensed, ready to pin her down. Casey must've seen in his eyes that he wasn't going to back down because she nodded curtly. She exhaled heavily, and her breath was part sigh and part gasp, part breathlessness. "Fine," she assented shortly, jerking her hand free from his and motioning for him to back up. Derek took one step backward and not one more. "What do you want, Venturi?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest in what was clearly a defensive gesture. Her voice was a few tones above sub-zero, decidedly frosty like a November morning. Her expression was haughty and overly formal, an attempt at putting Derek in his place or something to that effect, no doubt.

Derek's expression changed. He let Casey come out into the hallway and face him properly, but he hadn't really moved. He leaned forward, uncomfortably into her space, tongue brushing across his lips briefly. A ghost of a smile, something quite a bit like victory, flitted across his face. Casey had no choice but to listen to him now. "You know _exactly_ what I want, Casey, just like you know exactly why I'm here." He paused for a moment, leaning in a bit further, devilish smirk spreading across his features. "I'm here to collect," he announced casually, eyes flickering with a mean sort of amusement, like he was testing her.

Still, I hadn't seen that expression on Derek's face in years, and I certainly hadn't seen him looking so gleeful or gloating all vacation. Casey swallowed a bit tremulously, obviously uncomfortable, and she frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she said loftily. She was distinctly at least two shades paler, and it wasn't the lighting making her that way. Derek gave her a skeptical and knowing look. Casey's features tightened, rather like a mask. "I don't owe _you _anything," Casey insisted coolly, jaw clenching.

Derek shook his head, a laughing look in his eyes. I recognized it as the expression he had when he started to make fun of people. "Now, see, that's where I disagree..." His lips twitched into a little half smile, and he took another step towards Casey. "Don't you know, Case? The devil always gets his due," he taunted, flashing her that positively wicked smile of his, watching the way she sort of jumped and taking some form of pleasure from it.

Casey recrossed her arms, fidgeting a little, still uncomfortable. She threw my brother a dirty look. "The devil, indeed," she muttered dourly, scowling at him. I couldn't tell if the statement made Derek pissed or if it made him perk up like a daisy after rain. He's so good at hiding his emotions that it's difficult to tell what he actually feels or if he actually feels, but that's the way my brother likes it.

Derek tilted his head, eyes darkening a little. He certainly seemed menacing standing there in the middle of the hallway, hands at his sides, ready to jump into action. "Don't be uncharitable, Sis," he chided in a faux holier-than-thou tone, pinching her cheek not unlike Aunt Madge. He flashed her a very cheeky smile, releasing her cheek. "Like some part of you doesn't want to redeem me?" Casey did not look amused by this; she rubbed her cheek, shooting him looks of vexation. He paused for the barest of seconds, his whole body inching forward, leaning in on his toes. In an instant, the grin dropped off of his face, and he was dead serious. "I want my kiss, Casey. You **owe** me that much."

Casey's eyes widened, but she'd known that was coming in the same way I had. Derek's voice was low and deceptively calm but with an undercurrent I couldn't quite place, an undercurrent of something more potent. At first she was just silent, struck dumb by the bluntness of his demand, the favor he was due. Then she shook her head, a look of disgust passing over her face as what he'd said properly registered. "What part of "**no**, you're my stepbrother, and you disgust me" don't you understand?" she retorted, attempting to walk back to her room.

Naturally, Derek wouldn't stand for that, so he followed her. He got in front of her and managed to grab her still-reddened wrist. How would she explain that to Noel if it bruised? Derek clucked his tongue, shaking his head at her. "Casey, Casey, Casey... you obviously haven't gotten any better at lying," he drawled in that utterly confident and familiar voice of his. He was holding her wrist somewhat more loosely, almost caressingly now, like more of a formality to keep her in place.

Casey's eyes flashed menacingly, and I saw something in my brother jump at the sight. "And obviously your ego couldn't get any bigger or else your _head _would **explode**!" Casey shouted, throwing a hand in the air in equally obvious frustration. Once again she jerked her wrist away from him, bringing it to her chest and wrapping the other hand around it protectively. Had Derek really hurt her? Derek was grinning like a fool, and the slightly mad look in his eyes made Casey additionally wary and confused at his reaction. Then again, she'd never understood that Derek's ego was something he was actually proud of, the clincher of his perfect act to fool everyone.

He leaned in, and Casey shrunk back a little, almost like she was afraid. "It's not the only thing about me that's big," Derek countered, waggling his eyebrows so suggestively that he might have well have broadcast his no doubt pornographic thoughts to her. "Wanna find out?"

Casey shuddered, which made Derek's grin turn even more smug. He seemed sort of out of character, but I hadn't seen him and Casey together for quite some time. Maybe they had always been like this, and I'd never noticed? I mean, I think I would notice or remember their relationship having such blatantly sexual undertones, but maybe my lack of such memories was due to my youth and childhood sexual unawareness? Or maybe things had changed sometime in those four years. After all, how well did I really know how they acted when they were all alone? "Well, I wouldn't know about that, and I don't want to," she uttered with a strong expression of distaste making her pretty features seem like something out of a monster movie.

It reminded me, bizarrely, of the videos Derek used to shoot of her in various stages of disarray, hair a mess, face contorting into all sorts of primal expressions, usually charging at him like some kind of overblown rhinoceros. Casey was so predictable, honestly.

Derek's insane grin became a smirk once again, though there was a substantial vibe of sleaziness intermingling with the smugness, arrogance, and confidence this time. He cocked his head at her, giving her a look like he knew better. Casey's face seemed like it reddened in the dimness. Her eyes became more cagey and flighty, refusing to meet his. "Actually, I think you have some idea, and you do," he replied expertly, scarcely allowing a pause between their words. Again with that mildly amused vaguely condescending tone, like he was humoring her.

His eyes narrowed as he paused for but a moment to lick his lips. He started to speak before Casey, speechless with rage, could even get her mouth open. "It's just one little kiss. No big deal, Princess," he continued, his voice a mocking caress. He made the word "princess" pop, and Casey flinched as he did it. Derek smiled like this amused him, that shark smile. "Unless you're afraid," he drawled, baiting her. He was, as usual, winding Casey up and seeing how far he could take things before it became too much, and she finally let go and spiraled out of control like a spinning top, degenerating into madness and hysteria.

Sometimes I legitimately think he'd be happy if he finally drove her insane like he's been trying to do for years. Clearly this is not a healthy sibling relationship (although I'm not one to talk, am I?).

Also, as Derek well knew, what he was doing was his best way to manipulate Casey into doing what she wanted. She used to love nothing more than proving him wrong, and I'm sure it galled her to hear him taunting her like that.

Nonetheless, by some miracle of self-control, Casey remained mostly impassive. Her face was as tight and stiff as if she'd used some sort of botulin toxin, frozen and seemingly passive but not absent of tension. She regarded him coolly, eyes icy blue like frostbite. "I'm not afraid of you, Brother," Casey said with a venom that surprised even her. Derek did something bizarre then, something akin to a flinch, as if what she'd said had stung. Or maybe it was because she'd called him "brother."

He recovered quickly, though, and I wondered if Casey had even noticed his strange spasm or the way her words had given him pause. Her words had given her pause too, though, because I noted an expression pass over her face—not quite horror or shame or distaste, but something vaguely like all of them, as if she thought she was better than that sort of thing or response, like her response was proof that Derek was getting to her. I presume that Derek getting to her was precisely what Casey didn't want to happen (but, no doubt, the inevitable conclusion of all these events).

Derek moved towards her once again, and Casey took several steps back without even thinking. She was a bit distracted, seemingly lost in thought, a dangerous position to be in when you're facing my brother. Her distraction from her surroundings put her at a disadvantage. Derek was fast; he could do a lot before she refocused her attention, and by then it would be too late, wouldn't it? "Oh, really, Sister? Then why are you backing away from me as we speak?" Derek rejoined, taking another step forward. Casey backed up further, but Derek managed to get in her face. They were running out of hallway, after all. "What do you really think's going to happen?" he asked, getting dangerously close to her face.

His eyes darted from her eyes to her face and then, finally, to her lips. Casey no doubt felt the pointed intent and challenge of his stare because she drew herself up. "I don't need to kiss you to prove a point," she said, rolling her eyes. She pulled her body as far away from his as was possible, especially her head. Her hands fell to her hips, an offensive rather than defensive position. The switch, I thought, was interesting. It was a reminder that Casey could be just as unpredictable and dangerous as Derek when she wanted to be.

After a brief pause, she continued primly, "Also, there's something called a personal bubble, and you are invading mine!" She gave Derek a decidedly schoolmarmish look, stern and no-nonsense. Derek snickered, finding her puritan offense absolutely hilarious. Then Casey reached out, briefly putting a hand to his chest and pushing him back gently but still with an impressive amount of force. "Besides, why would I _want_ to be close to you?" she spat in disgust, eying him like some sort of bug or slug she wanted to remove from her sight.

Derek's jaw tightened. He moved towards her once again, not especially deterred by the push. "_You_ tell me, Case," he retorted. He eyed her body, her posture, seeing something that she or I didn't. A smug grin applied itself to his lips. He licked his lips with relish, enjoying how the gesture made Casey more or less squirm. And, naturally, he encroached even more upon her personal space, probably to see if she'd bother defending it this time. "Is it 'cause you get all excited? You know, like you are. Right. Now..." he teased in a low drawl, reaching out and putting his finger just below her collarbone, touching bare skin. He picked up his finger, moving it down slowly in a dotting fashion, where his pokes (though my brother's touch was substantially more gentle and taunting than that mildly violent gesture) skipped over her clothes with the intention of creating buttons.

Casey very nearly jumped, smacking his hand away before he could do anything further. "I'm not excite-" she attempted to protest, becoming indignant. Blood flooded to her face, making her turn more or less completely red.

Naturally, Derek interrupted her before she could even finish her sentence, much less her furious protestations. He snorted. "Oh, so your heart's just beating faster then because you're about to have a heart attack?" He gave her a look, and Casey looked away, still flushing. Derek's grin widened as he took a half step closer. "I mean, you're practically panting, and I haven't even done anything to you yet," he continued arrogantly. He wasn't wrong, though. Casey was breathing a bit harder, and I'm sure the blood was pumping substantially faster as her glands pumped out more adrenaline. Fight or flight and all that.

Still, Derek was, at the very least, scarily attuned to her body and its various functions. "I'm curious... What _do_ you think I'm gonna do to you, Casey?" he asked with a low rumble of amusement. His eyes sparkled, high off of the thrill of challenging her. His voice made it pretty clear that he had a few ideas about what she was thinking and that he was more than willing to do exactly what she imagined him attempting.

Casey let out a not-quite ragged breath but didn't give in to his baiting. She didn't want to put ideas in his head after all, much less leave him with the feeling that any of those ideas had even the slightest possibility of actually occurring. She rolled her eyes at him, as if this whole spectacle bored her. "Nothing," she said, cutting him off completely. I was surprised she hadn't called him on him not living up to his promise, not doing what he said he'd do and talk about the past four years. She moved to the side, getting away from him slightly. The thing that got me about what she said and the way she said it, was how utterly and absolutely sure she was that he wouldn't do anything.

Derek laughed loudly, staring at her in disbelief. "Wow, now there's a new one. I have been accused of doing many things over the years, but _nothing_ has never been one of them," he said incredulously. There was something else burning in that stare, something showed how much it bothered him that she really didn't think he'd do anything. My brother is many things, but all talk and no action has never been one of them. I wondered why Casey didn't see that? Had it really been that long, had she really forgotten what he was like? Didn't she realize that saying something like that was more or less inviting Derek to do his worst? She _should_ know; they're the same in that respect, only Derek's so much worse. Or maybe she did and that was something she wante...

I sat down quietly, head spinning from all the confusion and thoughts this encounter was provoking in me. There was a lot of raw data to sort through and interpret, but how could I be sure that I'd interpreted it correctly? How did this incident fit in with the things I'd witnessed throughout the last four years (and, really, the four years before that?). For the first time, I thought of getting Lizzie and bringing her down here to watch this with me. She'd always been better with people than I was. Yet something convinced me not to do it; I had the strongest feeling that Lizzie wouldn't want to see this. It also occurred to me that, if I went upstairs and brought her down, we might miss a key part or somehow wind up interrupting... and then I would _never_ get to know or understand whatever it was between them! So I remained seated on the stair, watching with wide eyes.

"You're not as brave as you think you are, Der-Bear," Casey said smartly, as if reiterating the fact that she didn't think he was going to do anything. She was implying a sort of cowardice I had never really expected my brother to possess, yet, for the strangest reason, it didn't surprise me. The more I thought about it, the more it sort of made sense, but the idea was difficult to reconcile with the brother I knew.

Derek's eyes flashed, and he gritted his teeth. The implication, no matter how euphemized and weakened it was, struck a cord in him. I think it was probably worse, actually, because she hadn't outright called him a coward. It was more than clear that that was what she meant and was thinking from the vaguely smug look in her eyes, like she had something over him, for a change. The mocking nickname was what really started to push him over the edge.

I began to see that this was going to get progressively more ugly, that they were both taking no prisoners. It was a strange realization, the fact that Casey actually had more power than I'd ever thought. She had the power to get to Derek the same way he got to her, and she had some sort of ability to inflict pain and draw blood like my brother. "This from someone who can't even say my name? Like the mere word somehow terrifies you... You _can't_, can you, Casey?" Derek countered, anger showing.

A perfectly serene Casey raised a brow. The venom in Derek's voice hadn't upset her, nor had the implications of cowardice. Then again, I've always felt that men take being called a coward much worse than women do, something about a coward not being a man since bravery is one of our most vaunted virtues. It chafes at us in a way it doesn't chafe at them. "It's not that I can't. It's that I _don't_. Why bother giving you the gratification? You thrive on recognition, and giving you none is the best way to get rid of you," Casey explained calmly but without any warmth.

I hadn't noticed it, actually, but Derek was right once again. Casey hadn't said his name once the entire length of their conversation, although she might have many times, and it would've been natural for her to do so. She'd called him by our last name twice, which had only just now struck me as an odd, cold formality, Brother once, and once by that ridiculous nickname. Derek, on the other hand, seemed to use her name or some sort of a nickname in almost every sentence. He shortened her name to the intimately familiar "Case" most of all, which seemed to rankle Casey a little bit more every time she heard it, but that didn't irritate her as much as him calling her "Princess."

I thought back to all the times I'd heard them speak over the vacation, looking to see if the pattern stretched to those conversations as well. Derek had said her name pretty often and used plenty of nicknames, both insulting and familiar (ranging from the high school Klutzilla, Princess, Space Case, and Keener... to Nut Case, Basket Case, Sister, and regular Case). He seemed to use her name when he was being more serious, and he seemed to use "Case" with the same frequency as her actual name. Maybe it was just me, but he seemed to call her "Case" when he was taunting her or needling her.

Casey, on the contrary, seemed rarely to refer to him directly at all. She'd screamed his name three times in the way she used to, unable to break the habit, but other than that, I could only remember hearing her say his name three times, four if I counted earlier in the hall when she'd thought I was him. She even seemed to avoid using his name in reference to him.

"And how's that working out for you?" Derek rejoined, smirking as if to rub in the fact that it wasn't really working at all. I hadn't seen Derek so amused in years, really, but there was kind of a meanness to it, meaner than usual with her. He shook his head at her, the smirk disappearing as his tone became suddenly serious. He was still mocking her, of course, but he meant business. "Now, Casey, you're really just deluding yourself if you think you can actually get rid of me. I won't come quietly," he said in a low voice, so close their noses were practically brushing.

Casey made a face, jerking her head back before Derek could do something like take the kiss he was demanding. She waved a hand in front of her face, like she was dispelling some unpleasant odor. Casey backed away smoothly in a sort of circular fashion, facial expression changing quickly to disgust. "Oh, lovely. You've been _drinking_! Just what this holiday disaster needs..." she exclaimed sarcastically. Her voice rose and sort of squeaked on that one word, "drinking." That and the clenched fist at her side was a sign that Derek drinking upset her more than she was willing to admit. "Funny, I wasn't aware Derekus was a drinking holiday," she continued scornfully. With the way she looked at him, it was like she had no respect for him at all.

Derek saw this and resented it, especially since she was most likely the reason he'd been drinking. I wondered if the alcohol was why Derek seemed so different. Then again, my brother wasn't really the type to go hiding behind alcohol unless it was convenient for him. Derek could drink an elephant under the table. He gave Casey a dismissive, almost bored look, like she was stupid for even insinuating he might have a drinking problem. "It's a holiday celebrating _me_, Case. I can do whatever the hell I want on it," he grunted, barely managing to suppress his irritation. He scowled at her full-out. "You'd be surprised how much being around your... _family..._" He practically spat the word "family," as if it were some sort of curse or insult. Maybe it was; maybe he considered being related to Casey the ultimate insult. "-All day makes you need to drink."

He eyed Casey pointedly as he said it. Her eyes narrowed in response, like she knew exactly what he meant. "With a brother like you," she sneered, "I'm not that surprised. However, _unlike_ you, I don't make a habit of turning to alcohol when I've had a bad day." Her voice was absolutely scathing, such a powerful indictment of her disgust. She'd certainly had a worse day than Derek, but unlike him, I'd only seen her have a glass of mulled wine, half a cup of eggnog (she could taste the alcohol pretty soon), and a cup of punch.

Derek's jaw tightened, and he threw a similar expression her way. "It takes the edge off, Princess. Makes everything feel... easier," he said through clenched teeth. It was almost defensive, but not quite. Clearly he hadn't been drinking enough if all that alcohol had made my brother so punchy. What, I wondered, was easier about all this? Was it easier to get the words out? To be around her? To stand it?

I thought to myself he sounded a bit like a drug addict phrasing it like that, and apparently Casey agreed, probably because she'd always secretly suspected him of using some sort of illegal mind-altering substance. The look of revulsion remained on her face; my brother was still too close. She could still smell his breath with that bloodhound nose of hers, I assumed. "And now, apparently, my cousin isn't the only alcoholic in the family," she said harshly, straightening her already impossibly straight spine even further, making her posture abnormally elongated and uncomfortable.

Derek's eyes flashed with an emotion that can only be described as wrath. He advanced upon her without consciously thinking of it, seeking out a confrontation. His voice was deceptively calm but still pretty tight. "I'm not a drunk, okay, and I'm not that drunk now. In fact, I'm seeing things clearer than ever," Derek snarled, looking over her contemptuously. A vague redness may have registered on Casey's cheeks, but if it had, I couldn't really tell. He took a step closer to her, swaying a little. "You can try to avoid me all you want, Casey. It's not going to work. It won't make _this_ go away. No matter how much you want it to." He was more or less right in her face as he said it.

Casey rolled her eyes at him and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. She let out a weary sort of sigh, as if she were exasperated and trying to conceal it. "Look, Derry-Beary, for your own sake, stop making a fool out of yourself and just go to bed. I don't have time to waste on such juvenile conversations," she replied frostily, completely disregarding what he said and denying any of its potential accuracy. The hated nickname sort of made Derek startle a bit, probably because it was the most directly she'd addressed him all conversation. She once again moved to pass my brother, but Derek stepped directly in her path.

Casey's face scrunched up unpleasantly. "Well, **I** do," Derek counted, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I think you can afford to make a little time for your older brother, can't you? Or are you a _baaaad_ sister, Casey?" He drew out the D in bad, and it was hard to tell whether he was taunting her or flirting with her. Maybe a little of both. Derek breathed on her, like noxious fumes, and Casey flinched, screwing up her face and turning her head away from him. She let out a shallow breath, like she couldn't even breath the same air as him.

"You are _not_ my older brother, and I'm better than you deserve," Casey managed tightly, looking past him at the wall. Derek's jaw clenched at pride in her voice, at the way she acted like merely talking to him was a condescension he didn't merit. Her eyes flicked up and met his for a second as she realized how close he actually was to her. She could probably feel his body heat seeping into the air, could feel just how charged that space between them was. "Get off of me and go away, Derek," she said coolly, pushing him to the side. She'd said his name then, and I wondered if it meant something. "The less I see of you, the better," she sneered, turning her nose up at him and walking past him, heading back towards her bedroom.

Derek stalked after her, fuming. "So, what, I get the same treatment as Truman now, Casey? A brush-off, really?" He began to raise his voice. Casey stopped in her tracks when he mentioned Truman, slowly turning her head around. Truman was still a sore spot with her. Derek took the opportunity to grab her arm and turn her around to face him. The look on his face was painful for me to witness because it was so unlike him, something about it so... wanting. "I'm part of your _family_. I thought that was supposed to _mean_ something... Here's your feel-good family moment, Case. The one you always wanted..." He entreated, holding open his arms. "Now why don't you come give your brother a kiss?" he urged with a too-casual smile.

I could see that it bothered him more than he was letting on, and I wondered if Casey could see that too. I wondered a lot of things about her relationship with my brother, like if she even knew what it was or if she had any idea what he was like now. She looked a bit conflicted, judging by the expression on her face, so maybe Derek had swayed her some. She faintly bit at the bottom corner of her lip, silent in thought. And then she spoke, glancing pointedly around the hallway, knocking Derek's hand off her arm. "What a very good point... Now where are Edwin and Sebastian? After all, they're my _real_ brothers."

Nothing surprised me more than hearing my name come up, even though Casey knew very well where Sebastian and I were (or thought we were, at any rate, given my current position). Derek took a half-step forward, body stiff, smile gone. "Huh, so there's a difference between me and Edwin as brothers but not Ed and Sebastian. Interesting. Guess it _isn't_ the same difference at all, is it, Case?" Derek drawled, voice dripping with something biting. He pressed his thumb into the inside of her elbow, right in the hollow where nurses draw blood. The rest of his fingers wrapped around her elbow firmly enough, like he was trying to hold on to a piece of her, to somehow hold her there with him.

The phrase seemed to be something between them, something only the two of them understood. Thinking back to what Derek said, I assumed it must be something about the difference between a stepsibling and a real sibling, something about their relationship... but whatever it was was beyond me. Casey stiffened, attempting to withdraw from him. She might've even flinched briefly. "Why are you always harping on about that?" she griped, giving him a sharp look. The comment apparently had an additional significance to Derek that it didn't to Casey.

Then her eyes locked with his in a very familiar, sort of intimate way. She let out a breath, hair falling into her face. "The difference is that you will never be my brother," she said quite clearly, emphatic about their lack of relation. "You're just not." I frowned, wondering what she meant by that. Was she denying their relation from a technical standpoint, because she didn't want to be associated to him and was ashamed to be related to him, or was there some other reason?

Apparently Derek didn't think this was good enough reasoning either. He smirked a bit, still thinking the situation in his favor. "Then what am I, Casey?" She didn't answer him or look at him. Derek answered for her, releasing her arm. He tilted her head up with his index finger, forcing her to look at him. He was smiling faintly and had an almost pleasant look on his face. "Hard to say, isn't it? It's a little bit more complicated than all that, right?"

Derek was right, of course, but Casey wouldn't admit that just like she wouldn't admit that her rationale made completely no sense (meaning there was probably some ridiculous _emotional _reason why Derek wasn't her brother, blech). She got flustered when Derek's hand tipped her chin up and took a hasty step back. "You're a giant pain in my ass that I'm stuck with for the rest of the holidays, that's what you are," she retorted, cocking a hand on her hip. She was wearing an expression similar to that of a linebacker or enforcer, like she wanted to tackle Derek, to knock him down at full speed and push forward.

My brother laughed loudly, amused at the way she'd said it, all serious-like. Casey could be very serious at times, but when she was attempting to be threatening, it was more comical than actually menacing nine times out of ten. This time was no exception, what with the pale pink flowered nightdress and her hair, loose and wavy. "Huh. Well, at least I got a piece of that ass," Derek quipped, sloppily reaching down to grab her ass for emphasis (and probably his own enjoyment). He managed a stroke and a brief squeeze, and this sleazy look spread across his face as he did it, which made my mind go in several very unpleasant directions.

I was surprised that he actually succeeded for approximately two seconds before Casey gasped and tore his hand away from her ass, instantaneously slapping Derek's face with an audible smack. Derek made a face, rubbing the reddened skin. It had, no doubt, stung. "Feisty. I like that," he added with a grin.

Casey threw her hands up in the air and let loose an aggravated grunt that made her sound like some sort of hippopotamus or water buffalo. I was surprised not to hear her shout his name as usual. She glowered at Derek with twice the force of her usual glare, but Derek just kept on grinning. "Shut your **disgusting** mouth," Casey huffed. Derek opened his mouth like he was going to say something, probably just to piss her off (since he didn't interrupt her). I could see Casey visibly get angrier and knew she was close to losing it, as did Derek. "Read my lips, Derek: I want you nowhere near me. I cannot be any clearer about that," Casey snapped.

However, Casey was still a bit too close to Derek when she said that, so I don't know if he got the message. He was staring at her lips, though, but he probably wasn't trying to read them. After all, Derek knew as well as anybody else that Casey didn't always mean what she said. Her relationship with Truman is kind of a whole case in point for that. "Really?" Derek said, gesturing to her face, "'Cause that's not what your eyes are saying." Well, at least he didn't say something like "your lips are saying no, but your eyes are saying yes." Even though that's what he meant. Or maybe Casey's just one of those people whose lips and eyes don't match when she's lying to herself.

Casey started sputtering, and Derek leaned back a little, enjoying watching her for a moment. He took a mostly swaggering step towards her, voice urging. "Come on, Casey, try me. You'll like me," he declared cockily. Given his reputation, he was probably right (but even if Casey did like such a thing, which seemed contrary to everything she'd said to him tonight, it'd be the sort of thing she liked secretly, against her will). Casey froze, face contorted in another expression of revulsion. Derek brushed it off and continued towards her motionless form.

He stopped when he was close enough to whisper in her ear. I wondered why Casey let him get so close. "Or is that exactly what you're afraid of? That you'll like it a little too much? That once you've _fi-nally_ had a taste you won't want to go back to No-elle?" he whispered mockingly, face turned towards hers. He drew out the word "finally" and leaned closer still as he said it before making a ridiculous kissy face at her. His darker eyes flickered over every feature, observing her a few millimeters away from her face, as if cataloging it for later. If he seemingly wanted the kiss from her so badly (he'd asked her directly at least two times), why didn't he kiss her then, when he was so close, and she couldn't (or wouldn't?) exactly stop him?

Why didn't he take what he wanted, as usual? Casey'd flinched when he'd mentioned Noel, had almost closed her eyes when he was that close to her, like she didn't want to see him there. She seemed to snap out of the passivity then, her face hardening into rock like cooling lava. She crossed her arms over her chest again, evidently uncomfortable, shifting a bit. Then she rolled her eyes at him, refusing to back down. "Don't flatter yourself, Derek," she spat. She paused for a moment, and a small, icy smile appeared on her lips. "You weren't even that good with your hands," she remarked sharply. Her eyes were like daggers.

I think my jaw just about dropped to the floor when she said that, wondering what had happened and how far had and was that why they? I found myself incapable of finishing a sentence. Derek's own eyes widened, and he winced, eyes shutting briefly at her words. He wasn't as impervious as I'd thought, then. He opened his eyes again, but there was still this odd, almost stricken look on his face that wouldn't go away. "Ouch..." he muttered. His next comment was said with a noxious combination of cockiness and bravado that may have been real or manufactured, though I suspected the latter. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm _so_ right, aren't I?"

It sounded to me like a desperate attempt to recover lost ground, to reassert something. Casey snorted, as if she suddenly found him ridiculous, barely sparing him a glance. "You are so _wrong_ you have no idea." She let out a little laugh even. It was as if the balance of power had somehow shifted between them. The space between them was getting bigger somehow. Casey wasn't going to stay there much longer.

Derek took a step forward. Casey watched him with passionless, bored eyes. "Prove it to me, then," Derek challenged, getting her to meet his gaze. He beckoned her forward with palms open and facing out by his waist. It was obvious how he wanted her to prove it. Maybe she didn't hear the cord of steel in his voice, the determination, but I did, and I knew it wasn't going to end well for either of them.

Casey gave him a look, unimpressed and maybe a bit disappointed with him. "I'm not dumb enough to fall for that twice," she replied. A look of mild irritation passed over her face as she undoubtedly remembered her first kiss with Truman, the one he'd tricked her into giving him, though I'm sure he never thought Casey would do it. It was, to be honest, something she'd half worked herself up into doing. Derek was different; he didn't think she'd do it, probably _knew_ she wouldn't, but he was trying his best to convince her somehow, and he wouldn't stop until he got bored or got what he wanted. At this point, it could still have gone either way.

Derek threw her a look but didn't roll his eyes. "C'mon, Casey, it's just one lousy kiss..." The cutting look Casey gave him indicated that she didn't believe his attempts to make it seem like such a request was nothing. Derek's eyes narrowed. "And I never took you for a spineless coward either... too afraid to do anything." He paused, cocking his head and regarding her thoughtfully for a moment before his lips curved into that condescending smile. "Are you worried I'll plant one on you and make you fall in love with me? Do you _really_ think I'm going to manage to seduce you with a single kiss?" he drawled, glancing pointedly at her lips in a way that made Casey so uncomfortable that she cleared her throat and couldn't look at him. "This isn't a Disney movie," he continued belittlingly, the darkness of his eyes recalling evil step-relations and predatory beasts from those films. A regular Beauty and the Beast they were.

"I mean, I know I'm good, but I've never seduced someone away from their fiancé with just one kiss," Derek mused. The way he said it indicated that Derek was considering attempting to do that very thing as a personal challenge. Derek loves to challenge just about anything, actually. Authority figures, our parents, Casey, other hockey teams, other peoples' beliefs, and so on, if he thinks it'll be amusing or cares enough. He has a very confrontational view towards life, and if he can find a reason to oppose something, he'll do it just to be contrary and get that rise, that reaction he craves from people (not just Casey).

You see, being difficult is, as far as I can determine it, Derek's main goal in life. This includes not only making other people's lives more difficult but also personally challenging himself, I suppose to prove he's not afraid of a challenge or is super capable or something like that. Another reason he likes to challenge himself is that it gives Derek plenty of interesting stories and reasons to brag about himself. After all, few people have the guts to be Derek Venturi. He paused, smirking. "'Cause, if you do, you put a lot of faith in my kisses, and, well, what _does_ that say about your pathetic sex life, huh, Casey?"

Casey's eyes flashed dangerously. "My sex life is _not_ pathetic!" she protested a bit too defensively. Derek quirked a brow, silently questioning her all-too vehement statement. Casey promptly flushed iron red, embarrassed and probably a bit angry that Derek had managed to goad her into talking about her sex life, getting her to play right into his hand. Derek grinned victoriously. Casey tried her best to hold her head high and pretend her cheeks weren't burning and that she wasn't thinking of sexual things. "I think you want to seduce me, and, frankly, I neither want nor need to be seduced, thank you, much less kiss you," she said firmly, eyes locking with his to show she meant it.

She sounded so businesslike and uptight it was almost comical. Derek didn't seem to think so, of course, but it's hard to find amusement in being rejected fairly brutally. "You don't have to say it like it's that _repulsive_..." he muttered tersely, sounding almost hurt. A half-smile almost appeared on Casey's face at the petulance and tinge of irritation in his voice. But then Derek looked up, and the almost-smile disappeared, replaced by the blank expression she'd taken to wearing in some attempt to remain calm while dealing with Derek. "But it's tradition, dear sister. It's the rules, and you love rules. And you've never been one to buck tradition," Derek urged, oozing charm, coming closer until he was close enough to reach out and touch her.

Yet, for some reason, despite his endless physicality that night, he didn't. Maybe if her nightdress had had a little bow, he would've toyed with its strings and untied it. "And you've been one to follow it? So hard-up to kiss your stepsister?" Casey scoffed, pushing past him. Derek did not appreciate the mockery in her voice, judging by the clenched hands at his sides. A moment later, Casey half-turned and said over her shoulder, "Besides, you said it yourself. You're the _exception_ to every rule, right, Venturi?"

Derek looked up at her. "Not this one," he said sulkily. Casey shook her head. For a moment, she looked like she was about to giggle, but then she merely turned around and headed towards her door. Derek wasn't going to let her get away that easily. The minute her fingers touched the door, Derek's hand was on hers, stopping her from opening it. "Somewhere, somehow, someone's gotta be kissed," Derek murmured in a low, determined voice. Casey's shoulders tensed up. He stood directly behind Casey, body not quite touching hers but close. The side of his face was so close to hers that he might've brushed her cheek with his nose.

I couldn't really see the look on Derek's face, but I think it must've been something intimate, something akin to reverence. As you can see, everything was happening so fast I couldn't really process it, and I was trying my hardest not to let my previous judgments affect what I was witnessing. Whatever this was, it was different than all of the other encounters I'd witnessed between them, even in the whole of our family history. This was Casey and Derek as I'd rarely seen them, alone together, stripped of all acts and pretenses, at their most elemental and combative. Aside from that talk earlier this evening and that time in the kitchen (and only one of those moments could've really been considered remotely important), I think it must've been the first time they'd been really alone together in almost four years.

Casey didn't dare turn around, fully aware of how close Derek was and how turning around would press her body against his. She'd effectively be turning into him, and wouldn't he like that? She knew that she was safest facing the door, even with Derek's breath on her neck. She had no choice. I couldn't really see her face that well, but it looked like she was bracing herself for something. She seemed to be clenching her teeth. "Don't you have someone else to torment?" she bit out. Frustration seeped into her tone, allowing a rare bit of emotion to slip through her cold veneer and show that Derek's persistence really was getting to her. She squeezed her free hand tight into a fist and then released it, stretching her fingers wide apart (probably because she could hardly wring her hands with Derek positioned as he was).

Derek snickered. "Not right now. Besides, you're my favorite target," came his calm and assured answer. He moved away just enough so that he could turn Casey around. Her body barely brushed against his, but Derek pried her hand from the door. Once Casey realized that Derek had laced his fingers with hers and was effectively holding her hand, she dropped it like she'd put her hand in steaming dishwater.

Derek moved a little closer, slowly like a shark that had seen blood in the water. "I'm not asking for a lot here, Casey. In fact, I think I'm being quite reasonable..." Derek said, fixing her with a look. Casey looked like she was going to be ill. "I did something for you, now you do something for me. That's the way it works," Derek continued, punctuating this statement with a smile. It was not as nonthreatening as it was supposed to come off. The color drained from Casey's face. What did he have on her?

It almost seemed like he was blackmailing her, but if he was, why hadn't she immediately given him what he wanted? Why hadn't he immediately referenced it and used it against her? "It's only fair," Derek continued diplomatically, "and it doesn't even involve touching my genitals... All you've got to do is kiss me like you mean it for a few minutes. Should be easy enough." Casey's eyes were wide with horror. I blinked in astonishment, unable to believe Derek had actually just said that. What favor did she owe him?

She was struck dumb for a moment, attempting to process what he'd just said. Derek had been so nonchalant about it, like what he was asking was nothing more than a business proposal or previously-discussed form of payment. He'd said it in this infuriatingly patient tone, as if he was explaining it to a two-year-old.

After a while, Casey, like the engine of the Prince, sputtered to life, still disbelieving. "I am **en-gaged**, you moron. I don't want to be kissing anyone but Noel!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air.

Derek cocked his head and gave her that same patronizing look. "Come on, now, Casey, we both know that isn't true," he said knowingly, utterly confident in himself. He frowned a little nonetheless. Then he licked his lips, eying her hopefully. "You know I'm good for it, Sis." His voice was low, a little throatier than it should've been.

How would she know, I wondered. Casey was still paler than usual and still found it hard to speak. Yet somehow she was still able to shut him down coolly. I wondered how long Casey could really hold out against him. Would she give in, would Derek trick her, or would my brother come out for once empty-handed? "_You_ are good for nothing," she managed sharply, pointing at him. "Least of all that." She said it with a dismissive toss of her head, hand finding the doorknob behind her.

I figured I didn't want to know what they were referring to, although I could make a good guess.

Derek's expression was nonplussed. Did any of her brutal shutdowns actually hurt him? She was getting progressively more blunt as Derek persisted, yet barely anything she said seemed to get to him. It had to be by now, though, given how adamant she'd been. I wondered at Derek's secret. She'd just basically called him worthless after all. "You think you're the first person who's ever told me that, Casey? You're going to have to do better than that if you really want to get to me," Derek rejoined. He waited a moment before dangerously invading her personal space yet again. "Now, kiss me, Casey. I dare you."

Casey might've rolled her eyes. Either way, she didn't wait to shove Derek back and away from her. "For the last time, NO!" Casey half-shouted. She still remained fairly quiet, but it was the first time she'd really risen her voice in the conversation, a sign that Derek's tactics, no matter how childish, were really getting to her. Casey let out a breath through her nose, irritated and trying to calm herself down. "As hard as this may be for you to believe, I have absolutely _no_ desire to kiss you."

Derek's face turned unpleasant for a moment, but pretty soon that side-smile was back on his face. There was something bitter about it, though. He started walking towards her. Casey should've taken that opportunity to open the door, dash into her room, and lock and barricade herself in. She had a few moments where Derek was just standing there, rocking on his heels. Maybe she was afraid Derek would get there faster and they'd both somehow wind up in her Noel-free bedroom with a locked door. "Now, Casey, did I _say_ I was asking? Did I _sound_ like I was asking?" he asked rhetorically. The smile fell as he reached her. "That wasn't a question, Princess."

Casey eyed his closeness warily. He was still far enough away for her not to be touching him but close enough so that she was uncomfortable and on edge. "I don't care because, last I checked, you have no hold over me! I don't have to listen to a single word you say!" she said defiantly, pointing her finger at him. The problem was that it came off almost hysterical, so it sounded like she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him of that.

He gave her a bored look, silently asking if she was done with her little rant. "You don't have to, but I can make you..." he replied ominously, reaching out for her shoulder. Casey rolled her shoulder back so it was out of his reach. Derek lurched forward, his face blank and serious for once. His hand made contact with her shoulder. Casey tensed like a rubber band stretched to its limits. "I'm not asking nicely anymore. I'm **not** asking, Casey. Period." He leaned in closer to her face. "And, really, Case, what makes you think you have a choice in the matter anyway?"

Their noses were practically touching, yet Casey didn't seem unnerved, even as Derek was nearly threatening her. She raised her eyebrows, moving her shoulder out from under his hand. "And what makes you so sure you'll succeed? Your will?" She allowed herself a loud laugh and then an amused smile at the way Derek clenched his jaw. I thought personally that she had greatly underestimated Derek's will and determination. She'd probably pay for it later. "The world doesn't revolve around you and your childish desires anymore, Venturi!"

The minute she said it, I knew she shouldn't have. It was like she was just asking him to prove her wrong with such a stupid statement, honestly. Predictably, Derek got in her face. His expression was especially smug. "Your world will _always_ revolve around me just a little, Casey. If only because you're trying so hard to get away from it," he pronounced. Casey opened her mouth to argue, but Derek stopped her with a finger to her lips, speaking quickly. Their eyes met and held the stare. "Face it, Case, I'm under your skin, whether you like it or not. And I'm _always_ gonna be there, so don't think you can run from it or claw it out. Because you **can't**. I'm unforgettable and inescapable," he murmured darkly, a wicked little smile on his lips. He used the opportunity to brush his thumb across her lower lip. Casey shuddered like she'd just imagined him crawling under her skin, forever an itch she couldn't scratch.

Derek gave her an indulgent smile and drew his hand back, off her slightly parted lips. He tapped her temple lightly. "I'm **always** gonna be in your head, whether you admit it or not... I'll always be there in the back of your mind, and you're always gonna wonder." Derek leaned his head back a little, deliberately and slowly licking his lips. Casey swallowed uncomfortably and attempted to look away. She'd turned even paler than before. Maybe Derek was onto something after all.

"Unless you do something about it," Derek challenged, staring her down. Casey's eyes flicked back to his, evaluating the statement silently. He paused for a moment, allowing it to sink in before gesturing to her. "So, Case, the question remains... _are_ you gonna do something about it or not?" For a long, long moment, Casey just stared at him, wondering how to take that.

Then she spoke, and it was obvious that she was unsettled. When I say that it was obvious, I mean that it was clear from the jittery way she held herself, on the balls of her feet, practically twitching. What really gave it away was the crazy look in her eyes, though. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about, but you sound disturbed and very likely deranged. I think you ought to consult a psychiatrist who would undoubtedly be more able than me to give you the help and sedatives you deserve," Casey said quickly, twisting the doorknob behind her. Derek once again stilled her motion by covering her hand.

He snorted, amused at how on edge she was. "Yeah, 'cause _I'm_ the Mental Case here." He tapped the top of her head then, like he expected to hear an echo. Casey scowled and attempted (but failed) to calm down. At the very least, she managed to put her free hand to her side. Something else flickered in Derek's eyes. "You know what _I_ think, Casey?" He paused for a moment, expectant.

Casey rolled her eyes, attempting to twist the knob. She was sort of able to do that, but she wasn't able to open the door with Derek attached to her like that. Her eyes accidentally met his for a moment, but she didn't immediately look away. "Actually," she said acidly, "I was fairly certain you didn't think at all. As this insipid conversation proves." She resumed her struggling with the door, once again to no avail.

He merely smiled and continued, eyes glittering, determined and malicious, as if she'd said nothing. He was on a roll, and there was no stopping him once he'd begun. "I think the reason you were so obsessed with Truman, the _real_ reason you ran all the way to Toronto and never looked back, the reason why you and I haven't spent a single moment alone together in **four** years..." His voice hardened as he went on. He punctuated each statement by poking her in the chest with his index finger, in a soft part, not so hard as to cause her real pain but enough to cause some discomfort.

He paused for a moment, walking his fingers up over her collarbone and up her throat. Casey held her head high because she had no choice; she was trying and failing to shy away from his touch. Her breathing was erratic at best, fast and shallow. Derek leaned in so his forehead was nearly up against hers. I thought he might've liked that. "Was because you figured out you were starting to develop feelings for me... And not feelings of the brotherly-sisterly variety." Casey swallowed. Her face was as white as sodium chloride. "Non-brotherly love, 'Sis," Derek spelled it out for her, wearing a sick, bitter little smile that more greatly resembled a grimace. Mockery dripped from every word.

His eyes cut into her like diamonds, cutting through carefully-constructed layers of glass and ice. "And you just couldn't have that because that was just going to _wreck_all of your little carefully-constructed plans for your perfect, pretty little life, wasn't it? Being in love with a guy like me, a guy who won't play nicely and cave into all of your wishes?" Derek continued, so close now that his body was pressing completely against hers, pinning her to the door. He looked at her then like he was going to kiss her, and he might have, had Casey not-

Completely and justifiably freaked out.

Whoa, wait, had Derek just accused Casey of being in _love_ with him? I mean, he'd said "a guy like me" but he totally meant himself! I felt bad for Casey, aware now that there was no way this wasn't going to end messily, not without some collateral damage. Her eyes widened like saucers, but she didn't waste a moment in disabusing him of this illusion. First off, she made some grunting/groaning noise born of immense frustration and exploded at him, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt and looking down at him. She started shaking him in fury. "EXCUSE ME, but are you _on_ something?" She hit him hard in the chest, knocking a bit of air out of him, before continuing to shake him.

"I mean, seriously, there is no other way I can get how anyone in his right mind, even someone as deluded as you, could _possibly_, possibly think something so ridiculous without abusing some sort of illegal mind-destroying substance! That's preposterous!" Her voice was getting progressively higher as she spoke. If there was a bit of distance between them, she would've been pacing now, rather than alternatively shaking and smacking my brother like a madwoman. Derek, I'm sure, was wearing that self-satisfied grin of his, amused at seeing her so completely unhinged. Eventually, she let him go and moved into the hallway.

She started laughing, utterly incredulous, on the verge of hysteria and sputtering. "_Me_, have feelings for **you**? You have _got_ to be kidding me," Casey scoffed, giving him a dismissive look. She was heading downstairs again? Going to Mommy and Daddy or, worse, Truman, to seek refuge from the Big Bad Stepbrother? I was a bit disappointed, to be honest. Derek's own expression solidified into something utterly devoid of emotion, which meant it hurt him more than anything else she'd said all night.

Casey turned around again, shaking her head. "Honestly, you're..." She was searching for words to describe it, and her eyes hardened when she found them. "You're barely even a brother to me because I find _everything_ about you so repulsive and repugnant to me, especially your behavior, that I no longer wish to associate with you in any significant way." I'll be honest; that was so harsh I winced. Then she turned on her heel and coolly headed for the stairs.

As usual, Derek was hot on her heels. How long were they going to do this? How long were they going to keep dancing in circles around each other? How long can Derek keep chasing after her? "Sam, Max, Truman, Noel... They're all just pale shades of me, Casey." An incredible confidence dripped from his words, like he was trying to match her venom tit for tat. Casey froze in her tracks, and Derek shrugged. "Better you realize that sooner than later."

He came still closer, approaching her from behind and trailing his hand down her arm sensuously. Casey tensed under his touch but didn't move a muscle. Did she enjoy it? Was that the reason why her breath had hitched? "Does Noel make you feel like this?" Derek whispered directly into her ear, causing her to shiver. Derek let out a low chuckle. Casey shuddered again when she felt the vibrations of that rumbling laugh. "'Cause I somehow doubt that Noel Covington gets your heart pumping quite like this. There's no rush with him, no uncertainty." I saw Derek's other hand reach around her, but I didn't see where he touched her or even if he did.

Casey looked at him over her shoulder. I saw her forcibly remove Derek's hand and fling it back at him. "Maybe that's because I'm not afraid Noel's going to sexually assault me," she returned archly. The look on her face made it clear she wasn't joking, and Derek's face took on an ugly expression.

His face was all in shadows again, and he turned a little so he was sandwiched between Casey and the wall. His hand was still on her arm, and he gripped it more tightly, forcing her head up to look at him. "Don't tell me you're afraid of me, Casey." His voice was low and menacing. Casey attempted to look down or away, but Derek wouldn't let her, his grip firm on her arm. I couldn't really see his face at all from that position. "'Cause we both know it isn't really me you're afraid of. You're afraid of yourself. Of the things _I_ can make _you_ do. Because you don't trust yourself around me," Derek drawled, leaning in closer to her face. His thumb stroked her arm absently.

Casey opened her mouth to deny what he'd said, but Derek cut her off before she could get a word out. He chuckled darkly. "And don't tell me you only _just_ started being afraid of me, Casey." He paused, eyes boring directly into hers, a thin threat of a smile on his lips. "You have absolutely no idea what I'm capable of," he said menacingly. I saw his teeth glint in the dimness. She gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was capable of.

She pulled her arm away, rubbing at it with an expression of mild discomfort on her face. "Don't try threatening me, D-bag," she spat. Oh, cute, a play on his old nickname. I expected Derek to be a bit annoyed by that. She didn't seem to be afraid of him for whatever reason, which struck me as odd. His posture, the way he was turned towards her, was certainly threatening, as was the expression on his face. Casey had been all sorts of extremes tonight, and at some point, she had undoubtedly been afraid of my brother. But I was starting to think that maybe Derek had gotten that last bit right. Maybe she wasn't so much afraid of him as she was afraid of what Derek could make her do. It was no secret that she lost her reason whenever he was involved.

Wasn't Casey really afraid of how Derek made her feel? Wasn't she really afraid of not being in control? She drew back from him, regarding him coolly. "I'm not scared of you at all," she stated. Her stare seemed to back up her words. Still, I couldn't help but think that, if it were really true, she wouldn't have to say it so much. She shrugged a little and spoke before Derek could say something to counter her. "You're not the only one who's changed," she said flatly. "Now," she continued in that same dead-calm voice, "do you know what _I'm_ capable of?" With the way the shadows fell on her pale face, I was beginning to wonder what she was capable of as well. Casey had changed quite a bit over the years, more than any of us had realized. There was something harder, harsher about her, a brittleness to her that wasn't there before.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Don't make me laugh, McDonald. What are you going to do, dance around me in circles?" he scoffed, miming a ballerina twirl. Ever the flair for dramatics, my brother. When he was done with his little demonstration, Derek stopped and turned suddenly serious. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he started advancing on Casey, making her back up. In effect, he led her all the way to the wall between their bedrooms until she was backed up against it, and he was more or less pinning her against the wall. "Let me paint a picture for you, sis..." he began in a storyteller voice, a kind of sleepy, romantic way of articulating things. Then he smiled meanly, gesturing between the two of them. "Of the last time we met alone like this."

Wow, he even rhymed.

Casey swallowed hard. It was hard to tell, what with her being in Derek's shadow and all, but she looked a bit green. Derek glanced around the hall, giving her just a bit more room to breathe. "Four years ago... In this very hallway, actually." His eyes flicked back to Casey. There was a lost, faraway look in them, as if he were in another place or another time. His voice got lower, and his hand found the doorframes of their rooms, so he had one arm on either side of her. His intonation was almost poetic, rhythmic like some sort of chant or spell to put her back in that time and place. "It was late at night and cold outside. You were stumbling in drunk from a party. I was in my room, waiting up for you." He paused for the barest of moments before throwing her a knowing look, this one so intimate that Casey swallowed thickly, as if she was about to be ill, and looked away with shame written all over her face. She knew how the story went, how it began and ended, all right.

I didn't like the way this "story" was headed. Derek was lovingly caressing the doorframes, his in particular. So far, it didn't sound like either of them. Casey coming home drunk from a party while Derek was at home, waiting up? It was hard to believe. Derek's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head. His gaze was piercing and convicting, which was exactly why Casey couldn't meet his eyes for more than a moment or two. "And you weren't exactly _that_ drunk, were you, sis?" he asked rhetorically. His voice was lower, throatier, the toxic fumes of his alcoholic breath probably hitting her skin. Casey stiffened and shuddered when he called her "sis," though she'd never reacted before. Her eyes scrunched shut, and I watched her withdraw into herself. "...And you asked me for a favor," Derek continued huskily, licking his lips and leaning in even closer until he was scarcely more than a hair's breadth away from her lips.

Casey's eyes shot open, and her head slammed against the wall once she saw how close he was. She grimaced briefly, nostrils flaring, but didn't cry out. Her eyes were as clear blue as the Caribbean but as frigid as the Bering. "Don't start, Derek," she snapped, a warning tone in her voice. Her hands found her hips. I couldn't help but raise a brow. I'd wanted to hear the rest of Derek's little story. What favor had she asked him for? So she did actually owe him then?

A smirk curled on his lips. "Too late." Whatever she'd asked him for, it couldn't be good. When you make a deal with the devil, he's always going to expect payment. And, wow, I just thought that like the Devil was actually real. Clearly I need to sleep and regain my wits... but I couldn't, not now, not until this conversation was over. Because I knew that if I left now for my warm bed, I'd never know why they were like this or what they were talking about, and at that very moment, I knew there was _nothing_ in the world I wanted to know more than what was going on between the two of them, not the ability to travel forward in time, not the mysteries of black holes, not the existence of the "God particle," not the missing link between humans and apes.

For Derek, a kiss was apparently enough payment. But it didn't seem like enough, not from what he'd implied, at least. Derek wanted more. He always wanted more. Casey glowered at him. Derek paid this no mind, naturally. "And why not?" Derek said shortly. "Afraid you're not going to be able to stop me once I do?" His smile turned particularly roguish. "_Still_ not gonna let me finish, are you, Case?" he added suggestively, raising his brows. My jaw dropped once again. There was no way to interpret that phrase in any vaguely non... I can't do this. I refuse. There are some highly speculative places I refuse to take my mind, and this is one of those places.

Casey blanched and actually looked like she was about to throw up on my brother, so Derek took a wary step back, never once taking his eyes off her. Casey shifted a little, pushing herself against the wall and relaxing a bit. She didn't say a word but swallowed and seemed to be thinking of something to say. Derek stood there, staring at her expectantly. After a small eternity, a bored Derek opened his mouth, deciding to say something. I wondered if he was going to continue with his little "bedtime story," but I never got to find out. Casey made a point of interrupting him, and Derek smiled humorlessly. She'd just proved his point, hadn't she? She still wasn't going to let him finish. "We've been over this, D," she sighed. Her patience with him was wearing thin.

Derek's brow furrowed. "Um, no, we haven't." Casey threw him a sharp look, which Derek returned. "Stop patronizing me, Princess," he retorted with a trace of resentment in his voice. He called her that nickname when he thought she was being uppity or pretentious or acting like she was above him, prissy, and I think he hated that, hated her talking down to him, more than he hated even her coldest words.

Casey scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and squeezing her arms tight around herself. The action pushed her breasts together, and Derek noticed. His eyes dropped immediately, drawn to her now-impossible cleavage. I, on the other hand, found it easy to not look at Casey's breasts or anywhere near them because she's my sister, and that's wrong. Casey didn't notice the changed direction of his stare. Her eyes were staring at the ceiling. Her body was calm, her voice almost bored. "It was just the one time. Four years ago," she said bluntly, dismissively.

I saw something flash across Derek's face, linger for a moment, and then disappear, like a meteor shower. "Oh, cute, you've been counting!" he rejoined sarcastically. I recognized the barb for what it was, an attempt to draw her attention back on to him but away from whatever emotion had just passed over his face. His comment was an attempt to turn the tables on her, to distract from his own reaction, which was the exact opposite of bored and dismissive.

Nonetheless, I amended a moment later, Derek had a point. A minor point, given she didn't list the exact number of hours, minutes, or days (though maybe it had actually happened four years ago on their last Christmas Eve together, around this time?). I began frantically trying to remember when their relationship had shifted. When had the change occurred? When had they started acting differently around each other? I was frustrated to find that, no matter how hard I wracked my brain for an answer, I couldn't think of any specific instances or a specific day.

I had been preoccupied with other matters at the time: silly inconsequential things like what to buy my first real girlfriend, Michelle, for Christmas... and a healthy dose of how to avoid Lizzie yet somehow still get our friendship back on track. Lizzie was also avoiding me for reasons I, of course, didn't understand, so I was utterly bewildered. I only knew that, despite everything, and how wrong it had all gone (and so fast!), that we had something special, a rare friendship, the likes of which only comes along once in a lifetime or so, and it was something I didn't want to lose or give up. So how to hold on? I'd found a way then, but I wasn't so sure about now.

And, damn it, why was I thinking about Lizzie when I was supposed to be working this out? A voice in the back of my head taunted me, saying I knew exactly why and how badly did I exactly want to know what was going on here with my older siblings? Badly enough to keep listening, I answered mentally.

Casey rolled her eyes at him, taking it in stride. Her eyes met his, colder than liquid nitrogen. I had a sudden flash of making ice cream with liquid nitrogen in chemistry class, the sizzling sound, the way it steamed everything it touched, and the tables turned all foggy. Her stare was like that. "-Nothing came of it, and nothing's _going_ to come of it. I barely even remember that night, and, as far as I'm concerned, nothing happened that was worth remembering. So get over it. Do us both a favor and forget about it," she said quickly. Her lips were thin with suppressed rage, and her voice was sharp and cutting like a scalpel. The words cut Derek open in the exact same way, with a coroner's precision.

What had they done, though? I was waiting breathlessly for an explanation. And why was I afraid to know? What illusions about my childhood or this family did I think the answer would disabuse me of?

Derek's whole body tensed. His hands became fists at his sides. Most tellingly of all, an expression akin to pain appeared on his face before he managed to make it disappear. His features remained tight, though, so he was still upset. His eyes, however, were narrowed in suppressed anger. I didn't think Casey could see that, though, in Derek's face. It wasn't like her to be deliberately cruel, after all, but Derek made her forget herself. And maybe she was just saying all of these things, the worst things she could think of, in an attempt to make him go away. She'd given him options, easy ways out of this conversation, but he'd persisted, and so she'd gotten desperate.

She shrugged casually, as if anything about this situation was casual. Derek became even more infuriated somehow, even more tense. "I was drunk and horny and lonely, and you were there. That's all," Casey said quietly, finally. Her voice was utterly devoid of emotion, dead almost. She shuddered, and her arms slipped down around her waist, crossed over each other, wrapped protectively around her body. She paused and then volunteered with some disgust and a nasty look, "And it's not like I actually slept with you."

How I managed not to fall off the stairs and roll all the way down and come to a stop somewhere near their feat, I honestly have no idea. I supposed I might've if I was a fainter, but clearly I'm not. My throat was dry. So Casey hadn't slept with my brother (and that could really mean a lot of things, actually), but she'd done something with him, most likely something less than that and sexu- Casey was talking again, arms crossed a bit higher this time in that familiar defensive position. "It was a mistake. It didn't mean a thing. That's it, end of story," she stated frostily. Her voice was so cold it could've reached absolute zero and stopped all motion.

And it did stop Derek's motion for a bit as he merely stared at her, mouth gaping. It took a while for his anger to loosen and start rattling with him like a rusty rolling pin. "That's not the whole story. But go on, Casey, keep telling yourself that's the way it happened," Derek countered swiftly, still stunned by her even more swift dismissal. She was still wearing that strange expression, that mix of disgust, shame, regret, and, maybe, hatred.

Derek's eyes flashed, and his voice rose a little bit. "Keep pretending like you didn't know what you were doing. Like you didn't _like_ what I did to you," he challenged. His tongue flicked briefly across his lips, moistening them. I grimaced, not wanting to think of whatever Derek had done to her. Thinking of Casey or Derek in any remotely sexual context really grosses me out, and it's none of my business. There was something in his voice akin to Casey's disgust, an emotion similar but not quite the same. And it was directed at Casey?

She made a face at him. He reached for her again, but Casey sidestepped him. She gave him a warning look, a look that made it clear she would dismember him if he tried again. "I wanted Truman then, not you," she corrected harshly. I had a general idea of what had happened between them, and I didn't like it. It sounded entirely too familiar for my liking.

Derek gave her a skeptical look. He opened his mouth to call her on it, but Casey interrupted viciously, "I never wanted _you_, Derek, just like I don't want you now." Casey seemed to genuinely believe this, but whether or not it was actually true was another question entirely. She was entirely calm and secure in herself despite the venom, and that struck me as a bit off. What was she hiding?

Amazingly, that statement didn't even give Derek pause. It was like, no matter how hard Casey sent something at him, he had to respond in kind. "Yeah? Then why'd you ask me?" he countered bluntly. He started moving back towards her once again, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He spelled it out for her, "You asked, a-s-k-e-d, remember. You _begged. _Me, not him..." Casey flinched as if he'd struck her. I suppose, with all those accusations, it was rather like he had. She might've been trembling finely, but I wasn't close enough to tell.

Derek continued undaunted, rising to his full height over her. His eyes bored into hers with a pressure and intent that reminded me of a deep-drilling oil derrick (aptly named, eh, given the towering and boring he was currently doing). "It wasn't like you didn't know what you were doing. It wasn't like you couldn't have asked him. And it's not like I've got the only Y-chromosome in the house, Casey, or that I'm the only guy you know in town. You picked me for a reason, and it had nothing to do with freaking Truman French," he continued pointedly, staring her down. It was Casey who broke the all-too intense stare, but Derek didn't revel in that small victory. "You wanted to see what it was like, the forbidden fruit."

Casey's head shot up, and she let out an undignified snort. Can't blame her, really. Derek had just compared himself to fruit (the forbidden stepbrother, really? That was his angle on this?). "Please! You were the only one on hand. It was convenient," she replied quickly, a bit too quickly, actually. It came off defensive and made her sound a bit like she was at the end of all her convenient little write-offs for what had happened with them. Whatever it was, it obviously meant more than Casey was willing to admit... at least to Derek. It was harder to get a read on Casey's emotions. She's not as transparent as she used to be, to me, at least.

Maybe Derek understood her better than I did since they're both so similar. But if he did, it seemed to me like he'd actually be getting somewhere with her, and he was getting absolutely nowhere. Derek gave her a dirty look, not buying it for a second. "Oh, what? Edwin was too young? My dad was too married? Sam too far away? Truman too similar to what you "really wanted?"" he countered nastily. He actually used air quotes when he was asking if Truman was what she really wanted. I was jolted by his mention of my name, much less in connection with Casey. Casey's jaw clenched, the fire in her eyes making it clear just how furious she was with him. Derek patted her on the cheek patronizingly. "Keep telling yourself that, Casey, but I know better. Go on ahead. I dare you."

Casey exhaled a bit raggedly. Derek's hand was still on her cheek. I wondered why Casey was being so nonconfrontational now, why she just stood there like a scared animal and let him do whatever he wanted. Derek's eyes narrowed as he leaned in a little bit closer. Something akin to revulsion, something gritty and angry, passed across his face. "You're just too damn scared to say what you know is true deep down... and that, _that_ makes **me** sick." Casey looked down, shifting a little. Her expression was blank and emotionless, revealing nothing. He removed his hand from her cheek and pointed a finger at her. "We've done a hell of a lot more than just kiss and you know it, Casey, so stop acting like you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, like nothing ever happened between us." His voice was low, shaking almost, with an undercurrent of suppressed rage. There was an intensity in his eyes I hadn't noticed before. He paused a moment and then leaned in, making sure his breath hit Casey's face. She closed her eyes reflexively, making a face. "'Cause it did." Derek's face was contorted into some sort of feral snarl, words blunt and direct.

She opened her eyes, a mildly irritated look adding to the sour expression she was still directing at him. She held her hands up in a sort of surrendering position. "I'm not denying it." She swallowed then, unable to suppress the look of disgust that shivered over her. Casey continued calmly, "I just don't want to talk about it because I don't like thinking about it." She sounded so polite as she was saying it, which was probably the worst part. Her eyes met his, her words slow and deliberate. "Because thinking about it... makes. me. _sick_." Her hand rubbed her stomach absently. Derek flinched, something a lot like sorrow tinging his features.

Casey ignored his expression. The pinched look on her face indicated that she didn't like talking about it. Given the paleness of her face and her general level of disgust and shame, it really did make her sick. I felt a brief moment of sympathy for her before remembering that she was brutally hurting my brother, who would, of course, pretend to be unaffected. "Besides, I didn't even kiss you then, and I'm certainly **not** going to kiss you now. No matter how obnoxiously you demand I do," she said with finality, refusing to back down or give in.

I knew Derek wasn't just going to let that slide, even though it seemed to me that he should cut his losses once in a while. "You're **chicken**, that's what you are," he sneered, his face scrunching up with repugnance, "At least I can face up to this and acknowledge it for what it is. 'S more than I can say for you. All you do is run." Casey's jaw tightened, but she didn't seem to take offense like Derek would've if she'd said the same thing to him. He gave her a knowing look. "You can't even stay here without feeling uncomfortable, can you? That's why you never come home. Because you're afraid that me and... _this-_" He gestured between the two of them. _"_... will be lurking around every corner just waiting for you, aren't you, Casey?" he taunted. Casey stiffened and then slipped past him, ducking under the arms he'd put back up to invade her personal space and trap her there.

She made a beeline for her door, apparently not able or willing to listen to any more of this. Maybe Derek was right about her. Or maybe he was just too ridiculous for her to put up with anymore. Casey opened her door, but Derek stopped her in his tracks by raising his voice. She glowered at him as he advanced. "And you don't want to think about this at all because you might just **realize** something! And that would wreck this whole denial thing you've got going for you, now wouldn't it? That's the _real_ reason why you're damn near running to the altar with Noel, isn't it?" Derek persisted, an almost electric fury crackling from every cell in his body.

Wait, did Derek just reiterate that claim of his that Casey has feelings for him? And, according to him, she's in denial about it and is rushing to marry Noel so... what? So she doesn't have to realize it? Derek's right about Casey's reasoning not adding up, but his doesn't exactly add up either. I mean, Casey running to be with other guys because she's really in love with him and can't face it? Sure, logistically that's possible and sort of makes sense, but the reason she can't face having feelings for him? It's not because he's not her kind of guy, because he's complicated. Regardless of whether or not Casey has feelings for him (which, frankly, I doubt, at least... I don't think she's-), she wouldn't deny them because of that. She'd deny them because he's her stepbrother, because she doesn't want to ruin our family, because she doesn't know how she feels about him, and because of what everyone would think. And a hundred other reasons I could give you.

If Casey ever considered anything with Derek, ever, she'd be too afraid of ruining everything. She knows and probably thinks that she and Derek are far too different. And Derek's... dangerous. Because if she actu—But, of course, I'm not one to make claims without evidence. Casey scowled at him and said primly, if not a bit stiffly, "I am marrying Noel because I _love_ him, and that's obviously something that someone like _you_ will never understand." Then she swept inside her bedroom, closing the door securely and quietly behind her before Derek could say a word. For a moment I thought it was all over, that Derek hadn't gotten what he wanted, and I was just as dumbfounded as my brother, who just stood there staring at the door with a mixture of disbelief and anger on his face.

But even that wasn't enough to dissuade my brother. I don't know what it was that she said that so offended him, maybe the mention of Noel, or her love for him, or the fact that she was denying him, or maybe something else, but a seething Derek stormed over to her door and started banging on it as loudly as he could. He was lucky that Noel wasn't there that night, and he knew it. "Keep on telling yourself that, Casey. Whatever helps you sleep at night!" he shouted after her. The door was open less than a second later when it seemed like Derek was about to raise his voice even more.

He'd been fairly loud, actually, so I was surprised that Vicky, so attuned to his voice, Marti, Great Aunt Madge, or Sergei hadn't awakened. Casey threw the door open, red with fury and embarrassment. She poked her head out of the door, glancing around the hall to see if anyone had heard. She was fully aware that Derek could shout anything right now to embarrass her. He had a lot of ammunition and a large inclination to use it. Derek grinned rakishly. "If I knew raising my voice was all I had to do to get close to you, I'd have done it sooner."

She'd almost fallen into him in her haste to check the hallway for anyone. Clearly she didn't check the hallway well enough since yours truly had heard everything, but sometimes being invisible has its benefits. Casey jumped back from him, frowning. She huffed but closed the door behind her and came into the hallway, intending to bring the conversation to a swift end, perhaps. She threw her hands in the air, beyond frustrated. "You are _impossible_!" she cried. She'd had it up to here with him.

Derek leaned against the bright red door to his bedroom like he belonged there. And he was my brother once again, smirking and oh-so infuriatingly smug. I was surprised the return of the cocky stepbrother she knew in high school wasn't enough to send Casey into a fresh tantrum. "I know," he said, leaning in towards her slightly, smirk never falling from his face, "I'm kind of proud of it." It reminded me of a time four years ago, right after they'd just moved in. Derek in her doorway, Casey wearing pink, that same smirk, and "in my house, I always get what I want." He'd also said something like that before, hadn't he? He waggled his eyebrows, moving a bit closer to her face with each syllable, adding, "And ir-_re_-sis-tible. You forgot that." He rolled the rs in the word as he said it, and Casey grimaced.

Apparently Derek had learned something in Spanish class after all. She shook her head at him. "You're perfectly resistible, believe me," she said, giving him one of her toughest unimpressed looks. Casey seemed to have a lot more willpower than I remembered.

Derek threw her a mildly amused look. "Oh, cute, Casey... Do you always get so nervous when a man comes so close to you, or am I the exception?" he drawled, moving in closer to her. That seemed to be all he did, constantly moving closer, constantly trying for more. Casey swallowed tremulously, seeming to prove Derek's theory. He smiled down on her benevolently. A moment later, he said quietly, a bit fondly, "Right, I'm _always_ the exception, aren't I?"

Casey didn't have to nod, though I doubt she would've. The look on her face said it all. There was something softer about her, something to her now like a scared child. I didn't know why _that_ statement, out of everything he'd said, something seemingly so nonconfrontational, could have such an effect on Casey. Maybe it was temporary, or maybe everything was just hitting her then, at that particular moment. She managed to look Derek in the eyes, and then she foolishly attempted to bargain with him, to appeal to some sensibility my brother doesn't have. "Don't," she whispered pleadingly, tensing as he moved nearer, closer to that kiss he wanted so badly.

At first, unbelievably, it seemed to work. Derek stopped moving closer. Something about her face got to him and stalled him. Maybe his long-forgotten conscience was rearing up its ugly, unwanted head. Or maybe he didn't want to have to force her to kiss him. "It's just a kiss, Casey. Why shouldn't I?" he said in a calmer, strange voice. His eyes fell slowly to her lips.

Casey sighed, thinking of the many different answers to that question. She'd made it very clear why she didn't want to kiss him. "Because it would never be "just a kiss" with you, Derek," she replied quietly, a dark look flitting over her face. She knew that Derek would always want more, that he would never settle for just a kiss. But I suppose Derek interpreted her turn of words differently because he once again started to come towards her, reading something in the dark depths of the ocean of her eyes. She reached a hand out to stop him, rather futilely, and reminded him firmly, "I have a fiancé. I'm getting married in six months. Don't ruin it for me."

That was, of course, the wrong thing to say. It hadn't worked on Derek before, so I wondered why she thought it would in that quiet, almost pleading voice. Derek had been hardwired to do the exact opposite of whatever she said since they'd first met (and, honestly, probably even before that). Derek's eyes flashed and a cruelness sharpened his features all of a sudden. "Do you honestly think I care about that?" he asked sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in to sneer in her face. He glanced pointedly around the hallway before his eyes settled on Casey's closed door. "Your fiancé's not here right now. Not here to _save_ you from the Big Bad Stepbrother," he taunted, inching forward.

Dark intent glittered in his eyes. A stray beam of moonlight skittered across his bared teeth, emphasizing his sudden wolfishness. Derek was sure looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive. Casey swallowed uncomfortably, fingering the doorknob, very aware of the fact that her room was dark and empty. I bet she was wishing she'd told Noel to come back or that she'd gone with him instead of staying here and becoming a victim of her commitment to our family. Derek was perilously close to having her cornered. "Why, Case? Afraid you won't be able to go through with the charade once you finally know what I taste like?"

Casey made a face at him and pushed him away, hard once again. Fury sparked from her eyes; she must be mad about him calling her future marriage a charade. "I'm not going to kiss you because I love Noel, and I'm with him. I have absolutely no desire to jeopardize that by kissing you because of some stupid Christmas tradition. I don't even want to kiss you, so why would I-" Casey explained wearily, tiring of the game and my brother. Her eyes were half-closed already, and it was at least a half-hour past twelve if not later than that. She started to push the door open, signaling she'd thought their little conversation was coming to an end. She couldn't have been more wrong about that.

"You said my _name_, remember!" Derek shouted—no, **screamed**—this as if it were a battle cry, rallying and grounding his whole being around this claim. His voice was raw and painful to hear. It was clear from the dark, wild look in his eyes that this inescapable, barely audible, almost imagined wisp of a breathless moan had haunted his dreams for years of sleepless nights, and that this feeling had sunk down deep into his soul so that my brother had become a man ceaselessly tormented by memories and ghosts and might-have-beens. How many times, I wondered, had he asked himself if he'd just imagined it? How many times had he wondered or thought himself crazy? How had this uncertainty chewed at him, decayed him, frayed at his nerves and eaten away at him from the inside in those four years?

After all that, it was no wonder I sometimes thought I barely recognized the man my brother had become. Something was literally eating away at him, hollowing out his cheeks and darkening the circles under his eyes. And that something was this, whatever it was between them, something so destructively powerful that even my brother didn't know what it was or what it meant. Whatever it was, that kind of... passion... burns, and it was just as likely to kill him slowly and painfully, like meat roasting on a spit over an open flame, unless something changed tonight.

Casey stopped dead in her tracks, ceased moving, becoming a captive audience. She'd gone completely white. Derek lurched forward drunkenly. The clumsiness of the motion was the only reason to call it drunken; it may have even been intentional, but my brother moved like the zombie he'd been on that ridiculous dance show. Casey dodged him, nearly jumping back into the hallway. Derek turned slowly, eyes finding hers again. I could practically see the adrenaline pumping through her veins from the way she changed her stance to something more aggressive and had her hands up around her face defensively but in a ready position. She looked vigilant and alert but also sort of... scared, not that she would admit it.

Derek's eyes narrowed. He looked like he was clinging to the last vestiges of his sanity. I prayed Casey didn't do anything to set him off and make him lose it completely. I got a look at him, and he did look like a wreck. His hair was messed up, very nearly standing on edge. The circles under his eyes were dark, the irises and dilated pupils above them still darker. His hands were at his sides, fingers painfully stretched out, knuckles white. He advanced upon Casey slowly but purposefully, like a man with a bomb. "So don't try to say it wasn't me that night because you damn well _knew_ who the hell you were with!" Derek growled.

Another few steps. "And you weren't picturing Truman or some other guy with you! You were thinking about _me_!" Derek continued exigently. He was being so loud he didn't care who heard them. No one said or did anything, so I assumed they must all be asleep like I was supposed to be. Or, maybe, they just didn't care enough to get involved in this mess. Maybe they didn't want to know. Derek was pointing at himself now, practically in Casey's face. "_My _face, my **hands** on you, _my_ eyes, my _lips_ on your skin. No one else's!" Derek insisted, now shouting. His hands clenched when he mentioned them, like he was remembering touching her. Casey flinched.

Apparently the single murmuring of a name was enough to convince Derek of the surety of his theory. I wasn't so sure. Casey'd regained a bit of her color, but she was still pretty pale. Derek's hands were within centimeters of her face. The mad look was still in his eyes, which were running all over her face. Casey coolly avoided his gaze, however, pointedly ignoring the fact that he was staring at her, acting as if she didn't notice. "Gee, Derek, I never knew you were so possessive," she rejoined mockingly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips thinned into a mean smile. "Especially of things that were never yours in the first place."

Derek took another step forward. His expression was thunderous. He reached out for Casey, reached out for her shoulders, but she nearly jumped backwards. "I've been going _crazy_ over this, watching you act like nothing happened but not speaking a single word to me for years. I'm **done** with this kid stuff, Casey," Derek said seriously, flinging his hands in the air. Maybe he did it because he was frustrated, or maybe he was just trying to disguise the fact that his hands were shaking. He reached out for her shoulder, but she jerked it back, out of his reach. She backed up a bit further, now more than midway down the hall, looking a bit panicked but hiding it fairly well.

His expression darkened further, if that was possible. "Face it like a grown-up, Casey!" Derek barked. Casey jumped, startled. "Something happened between us, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, and one day, you're going to have to face up to that and ask yourself what it meant. To you. To me." His hand finally made contact with her shoulder, gripping it fiercely and trying to hold on, as if to hold her there. She didn't (couldn't) move. Derek's eyes met hers briefly. "You don't do things for no reason, Case... And maybe then it'll be too late, and you'll have wasted half your life on things that didn't matter. Do you really want that for yourself?" he continued urgently.

Casey looked down, unable to refute this, apparently. Maybe she sensed the grain of truth in his words. Derek used his other hand to shift her head this way and that way, trying to make her look at him. But Casey flinched every time he touched her and withdrew sharply each time, as if it hurt. Derek's good at inflicting pain of all sorts, but I don't think he's learned how to inflict pain by just brushing his fingers across skin. He lowered his voice even more, so I could barely hear it in that otherwise absolutely silent hallway. The way he'd turned, I didn't get a decent look at his facial expression, but I imagined it mirrored his voice. Something about his voice thickened, revealing the heavy, heady emotion in his tone. "I don't want that for you." His thumb brushed soothingly against bare flesh, over her clavicle, down in the hollow of her collarbone, over her.

She shuddered, probably both at the touch and at the fact that she'd happened to catch his stare by accident. What was Derek asking here? I was sure that neither of them wanted her to live a life of regrets, but both of them had different ideas of what that was. Casey tensed. "And I don't want _you, _Derek," she replied in a perfectly level but not quite convincing tone of voice. Maybe it was something in the way she trembled, or maybe it was the way she couldn't quite look him in the eye but forced herself to at least look at her face. She might not want him (and I didn't think she did), but there was something there, something she was hiding from him.

What, really, was there to say to that? Derek could've asked why or how she knew, I suppose, but my brother didn't have the kind of patience to put up with her lying answers. Casey backed up quickly, escaping his loosened grasp, fearing that Derek was going to lose it.

She was partly right. Their stalemate was about to finally come to a head. As if they'd choreographed it, Derek and Casey started to circle each other, staring each other down. There was something very elemental and predatory about it, but I couldn't determine who was the prey and who was the predator in this little scenario. I'd never actually seen them do this before, but it felt familiar, so I assumed they must've in the past, given the way they maintained eye contact for the entire length of the circle and stopped at the exact same moment, bizarrely in sync in their argument. If I had to approximate, I'd say Derek started it, as always, but I couldn't be sure.

He leaned in towards Casey, eying her up and down, gesturing between the two of them with his index finger. "You and me... It's _going_ to happen, Case. It's only a matter of time," Derek warned, raising a brow. It wasn't a threat; it was a prophesy and a promise. He leaned in a little closer so that she must've felt his breath on her face. She wasn't about to back down, though, or show that she was actually affected by his proximity. "You can't run from me forever. Someday I'm gonna catch up." His lips turned up at the corners almost fondly but in an expression I connected with Derek issuing a challenge.

It wasn't the reaction I'd expected, to be honest, given the rage that I'd seen flare up in him, the way he tensed, so I found myself writing it off. It would end soon enough. Casey was right about nothing happening. They were both all talk and no action, just the way Casey liked it.

They stood there in silence, and it hit me that, for some inexplicable reason, both of them were panting, still staring each other down. Their chests were heaving like they'd both run for miles when all they'd done was circle each other. Derek's eyes glinted darkly. A second later, out of nowhere, Derek lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her backward until the two of them slammed into the wall between their bedrooms so hard that the paintings and the art of our childhood rattled. Derek pressed his body up against hers, clearly enjoying it from the way he threw his head back a little, pinioning her in with his body. A pained look passed over her face. Derek's arms were on either side of her face, trapping her there, looking down on her with satisfaction. The smirk spread slowly across his face, showing just how gratified he was at this moment.

And, so, like always, Derek took what he wanted by force. "You're not going anywhere this time, Case."

I will remember that sight of them standing in the hallway for the rest of my life. There was a predatory gleam in Derek's eyes, a familiar glint of challenge there as he backed her up and pinned her against the hallway wall between their bedrooms. His body plastered against hers, covering it. Casey looked up at him like a small animal caught in a trap, caged in by his body, the bars of his limbs surrounding her. Yet there was a steely determination in her eyes that dared Derek to do his worst and said that she could take it, all of it, and still emerge whole, sane, unscathed, and utterly the same, that anything he could possibly do to her would have no effect at all.

Derek didn't kiss her right off the bat like I thought he would. Strangely, oddly for my impatient brother, he took his time, wanting to doubtlessly draw the moment (and Casey's discomfort) out as long as possible. He leaned in then, so that their noses were nearly touching, and they could feel each other's breath on their faces. He closed his eyes and seemed to inhale her scent. Derek absorbed this feeling of power, got high off of it and their proximity, and it made him stronger. It made him invincible and unconquerable, more fully himself, more fully the Derek I'd always known, than I'd seen in years. Casey's eyes closed for a minute, a brief moment of weakness, with distaste, rather than pleasure, plainly written on her face. Derek didn't care, though. He dragged his nose across her face in a sort of extended Eskimo kiss.

He watched her with the worst kind of stare, a hungry, greedy, unbearable, unrelenting sort of look, a creepy sort of fascination with the expression. Worse still, I recognized the look on his face as a kind of manic desperation, a look I'd seen reflected in the mirror in shades and fragments, bits and pieces. It was the look of a man who has held back far too much for far too long, kept too many things bottled up so he won't feel anything... and, then, suddenly the bottle's cracking and the feelings and rush of openness are threatening to completely overcome him. More than that, however, it was the look of a man at the very end of his rope, clinging to the last vestiges of his sanity, tightly wound, stretched to his breaking point, and so very ready to snap... just for the release, the _sweet _relief of not having to hold it all in.

"I won't let you get away again," he breathed intently. He almost said the words into her mouth. Then he edged forward slowly, placing his hands firmly on either side of her face, and he pressed his lips against hers. It was nothing more than that at first, a soft peck, lips merely held against lips, much like how I'd kissed Lizzie earlier in front of the 'rents. Any movements Casey had been making to get away suddenly stalled; she froze as completely and docilely as if she'd reached absolute zero. My elder sister, the classical marble statue: white, still, and untouchable. It might have been shock, or it might have been fear that stopped her; or, it very well might have been the knowledge that there was nothing that would infuriate Derek Venturi more than no reaction at all, especially to an act of war, a theft, a violation of this magnitude. Everyone knew this had been a long time coming, and I felt as if a part of me had been waiting for something exactly like this to happen, and now that it had, I was holding my breath, feeling as if the world had somehow ended, and I was watching its destruction, unable to move or do anything about it.

It was like the End of History.

It was an anticlimactic beginning, for sure, but Derek soon made up for it. He held his lips against hers for just one long moment, relishing it, enjoying this moment of absolute victory over her. Casey was never absolutely submissive, after all. His body was flush with triumph. Then he tipped his head a little to the side and began to move. He stroked her cheek, eyes locked with hers, illustrating the power he held over her now, and then he attacked her lips with a newfound fervor. He crushed his lips against hers, pressing forward and aligning their hips like magnets. His body pushed her harder into the wall, arching towards her, wanting to get closer and closer to her.

He'd found a way in, so he twisted a little, like trying to fit a lock into a key, finding just the right spot to put pressure on to make it give and open. And that's when I heard him moan. It rippled through the air and was the loudest sound in that house that minute. I felt as if it must've echoed throughout the rest of the house, even down to the basement. He almost stilled for a moment, doubtlessly memorizing the taste of our sister, the texture of her mouth, the softness of her. For her part, Casey remained as still as a statue, eyes screwed shut now, a mild expression of horror conveyed by the unwelcome stiffness of her body. All of her was tensed up and on edge, rigidly controlled and firmly in place, like she was living a nightmare and just wanted it all to be over with already. Then Derek was devouring her wetly, sucking and biting and nipping at her like he couldn't get enough. And I don't suppose he could. His knees buckled a little, throwing him more heavily against her. There was an odd, worshipful sort of tenderness in his ferocity that's hard to capture in words.

Casey had inevitably started to respond, as we'd both known that she would. She never could resist an opportunity to challenge Derek and meet him blow for blow. Plus, my brother was doubtlessly an expert kisser, and he was using all of his best moves on Casey, so it was only natural for her to be moved. There was a queer sort of look on Casey's face, a kind of hesitance, like she was afraid to enjoy it but she couldn't help but give into it a little. It seemed like, tentatively, she was starting to reciprocate, moving her lips in time to his. She was relaxing ever so slightly, letting her guard down bit by bit, but she was still holding back, unable to fully let go and just _live_ in the moment.

There was a kind of poetry, a symmetry, a natural beauty in the way they stood there together, motions perfectly choreographed, more together and understanding of each other than they had been in years. How it must've been to suddenly be so crisply, so painfully aware of one another. The sight of them there, just kissing, was somehow easily the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. It seemed right to me, then, all of it, that so many problems could've been solved (or not existed in the first place) if they'd just done this in the first place.

It was, surprisingly, the look on my brother's normally inexpressive face that told me all I needed to know. It was only then that my brother allowed his eyes to close, and this indescribable look I'd never seen before passed over his features.

It was, first and foremost, a look of rapture, of _passion_, faintly tinged with awe and disbelief. All the lines in his face, the tenseness in his body, seemed to merely disappear, and he almost looked exactly like the brother I knew (almost because my brother had certainly **never** had _that_ particular expression on his face in all the time I'd known him). It was a look of relief, I realized. The expression I was marveling at was a look of pure, bone-deep, soul-deep satisfaction, a genuine appearance of happiness. My brother was even smiling a little as he titled back his head, drawing her towards him. Casey let him, didn't really resist, just followed, for her part. It was hard to see her face and her expression from my vantage point, and, besides, her face was studiously, cautiously blank.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him really smile like he meant it. His body relaxed completely, grounding hers, and his movements became more fluid and assured and less forceful. There was completion written there, true pleasure in every motion. A hand slipped up the wall, and the other fell possessively, easily, to her neck, thumb right over her pulse. I realized then that Derek's cynical, bitter, restless spirit was at peace. I saw the fullness in his formerly haggard, hollow features, the color that had flooded into his previous pale, sickly appearance, the _life_ that had suddenly infused him, the light that seemed to radiate outward from his being. Derek was happy, and the change that came over him was both a frightening and glorious sight to behold.

He _melted_ into her, like he wanted and intended and desired nothing more than to become a part of her, to bind himself to her and join them more fully, so smoothly, so easily, so naturally. I had never seen anything like that.

But, of course, all good things must come to and end. Derek's hand fell further, coming to rest on her hip and beginning to slide up underneath her shirt, letting him explore and appreciate the softness and warmth of her skin. Either that triggered something in Casey and caused her to realize what she was doing and whom she was very nearly clinging to, or she'd just found the perfect moment of distraction on my brother's part to realize her escape plan... either way, her hands went up to his collar, seeming at first to be pulling him closer, but, in an instant, she threw all the force she could into pushing him away. It didn't entirely work, but it did push him backwards, sending him rocking back on his heels. Derek opened his eyes, and the blindness fell away. The nakedness and vulnerability that had been there vanished from his features as if they had never been there, and he was hard, an immovable object once again.

He was thirsty to avenge himself. His narrowed, determined eyes flashed nearly black with this potent desire. Then he rushed at her, breathless and furious, covering her body with his, slamming her hard into the wall. The thud of her body echoed loudly in the hall, and Casey let out a short, breathless gasp of pain. With one hand, he held her wrists tightly above her head, pressing them against the wall. With the other, he grasped at any part of her he could reach, running his hands over her, touching what he liked. He mashed his lips into hers brutally with neither art or delicacy, needing possession, seeking to burn her and brand her and leave bruises to show he'd been there. He wanted, more than anything else, I think, to leave a black mark on her soul, to _ruin_ her for others, and to will his indelible tattoo on her forever so she could **never**, ever forget him. He tugged on her hair, using it to pull her towards him, making her cry out faintly. He wasn't done yet.

In all honesty, by this point, as any good brother, I was beginning to worry for both my sister's safety and my brother's sanity, or whatever remained of it at that particular moment in time, but I needn't have worried. Just as I was beginning to formulate a plan of walking "obliviously" down, right into the middle of this awkward scene, interrupting and acting as if I hadn't been watching the whole thing from my perch at the top of the stairs, Casey kneed Derek in the guts (ironic, I know), reeled back, and, freeing one of her hands as his grip slipped, slapped Derek hard across the face. Then, before he had time to properly react and likely gain the upper hand, Casey shoved him, sending him sprawling to the floor on his ass, landing in an indelicate heap. Then she kicked him in the side and hissed over him, "You are the _last_ man on earth I would ever want. The _last_ man. And, get this through your thick skull, I want absolutely nothing to do with you... If we were the last two people on earth, I would **kill** myself and let the species die out." Then she made a big show of wiping her mouth. "Oh, and go to _hell_, Derek."

"But you're never gonna get the taste of me out of your mouth, are you, Case?" Derek sneered after her, still on the floor, as she stormed off. He hadn't won, but it amazed me, his ability to get in the last word and still somehow come out as if he'd won. He'd gotten a fraction of what he wanted, though, so I supposed maybe he had actually won. He'd said something that would haunt Casey for a long time. He smirked, watching her bolt away, as if he wasn't in pain at all, the vestiges of grim satisfaction that he had accomplished this one small thing and was one step closer to wearing her down.

She just about ran to the bathroom afterwards, slamming the door behind her and locking it. I heard the faint sound of her retching through the door and pictured her bent over the toilet, vomiting out of disgust, shuddering. Derek, meanwhile, got up, grunting a little. Then Derek smiled faintly, beatifically, hesitantly brushing his fingers across his lips. His touch was fond, tender, even, as if he still couldn't believe that just actually happened. I couldn't blame him because I was thinking the same thing, but I suppose, unlike him, I hadn't been dreaming of that moment and imagining it in my head for however many years it had tormented my brother's nights. He kept smiling to himself, looking for all the world like a fool. "Hm... So, she tastes like raspberries..." he murmured rapturously, as if in awe, stroking his lips. He finally knew.

Then the smile fell from his face, and he turned on his heel, serious once again. I watched as he went back to his room, a grim, even more determined look on his face. It was the look of a man with a plan, or, more generally, my brother up to no good, as per usual. He went in, but the door had scarcely shut behind him before he was coming out again, a sleepy Sergei (and sleeping bag) in tow. Sergei, the poor guy, looked confused, but Derek muttered some things and gestured jerkily to the stairway where I was hiding, watching it all. Sergei frowned at Derek and headed reluctantly towards the staircase.

I watched then as Derek knocked on the door to Lizzie's room, probably the only time he had ever done so and would ever do so while it was her room. Lizzie was, of course, upstairs, which meant he was there for Vicky. When the door didn't immediately open, Derek barged in, per usual, and I had a sudden, sickening realization of what Derek was about to do and didn't like it. When I glanced up, Sergei was blocking my view and staring down at me both curiously and mildly accusingly. I scooted towards the wall and motioned for him to sit next to me on the landing, putting my finger to my lips as a signal to be quiet. Sergei joined me but didn't look to happy about it.

At the moment, with both doors (mostly) closed, I had a vivid image of Casey in my head, at the sink, gazing at her reflection, trying to make sense of what had just happened, trying to reconcile herself with her own reaction and then slowly shaking her head. I'd caught a flash of her before she'd left: her hair was a mess, her clothes were rumpled and pulled at, face and body flushed, and, most tellingly of all, her lips were swollen. All signs, of course, that a person has _just_ been thoroughly kissed and most likely enjoyed it. I pictured her staring at herself like she was a stranger, like she couldn't believe that had just happened to her, paling as realization sunk in and the horror swept over her face. It was a good thing Noel wasn't here to notice the changes in his beloved fiancée.

I saw her rinsing her mouth, spitting again and again, brushing her teeth back and forth, up and down, round and round, until her gums bled, gargling mouthwash, desperate that Derek not be proven right, _desperate_ to get the taste of him out of her mouth. I saw her splashing her face with cold water, then washing her face, scrubbing at some of the skin with heavy soap and shaking fingers. I saw Casey looking at her reflection, lost, as if she didn't know who she was anymore, looking at it like it was a way of getting back to the woman she'd been before Derek had committed his despicable (eye-opening) deed. I imagined her in there, trying to erase all the visible traces of what had happened from her body, drying her face frantically, raking her fingers through her hair again and again, straightening it, fixing her clothes, pulling them into their proper positions, glancing at herself again and again, unable to leave, because she was just _sure_ she'd missed something.

And she had, of course, because Derek had left a mark on her that she couldn't see and would never completely be able to get rid of. He'd succeeded in marking her for life, tainting her with his blood.

She surprised me by leaving the bathroom before Derek had finished talking to Vicky. She opened the door slowly, so that it was a low creak, and she peered out, glancing around the hallway like a frightened rabbit, to make sure that the coast was clear and, most importantly, Derek-free. She looked almost exactly like I'd pictured: face too white, eyes wide, lips nearly raw and still swollen, hair straighter than it had been before, clothes perfectly in place, not at all wrinkled. Then she darted across the hallway to her room, feet barely touching the ground, silent and fleeting as a ghost, shutting and locking the door behind her. I felt Sergei's questioning gaze but didn't want to risk my position by answering him.

I motioned instead to Lizzie's room, where the door was slowly opening, not even a minute after Casey had locked the door. Derek emerged first, with a faintly giggling Vicky murmuring and following behind him obediently. Derek was pulling her along by the hand, face impassive as if set in stone. I noticed, for the first time, that his lip was split. I hadn't realized it, but, somewhere in the struggle, Casey had bitten his lip and drawn blood. So Casey had really had the taste of him in her mouth, then, bitter and salty like iron. He marched into his room like a soldier, determined to accomplish his mission. Just before he shut the door behind Vicky, I saw him lurch forward and draw her into him, already tugging at her clothes. Then he pulled the bright red door shut and, probably, adjusted the vent (if he hadn't done so already), and, well... I heard some of the noises from upstairs, so it was pretty easy to guess what was going on.

I got up, motioning for Sergei to follow me after Derek had shut the door. He was raising an eyebrow, doubtlessly wondering about Derek's actions. I would explain it to him best as I could, best as I understood it, up in my room. I opened the door quietly, trying not to wake Lizzie. I knew instinctively that, as much as I wanted to put her off Derek, I couldn't tell her about this. She wouldn't understand, and she wouldn't believe it unless she'd seen it with her own two eyes. I glanced to the bed. Lizzie was lying on her side, her back facing us, covers down around her waist. She seemed to be dead to the world.

I motioned for Sergei to sit down on the couch and headed to my bookcase, fingers finding the movie I needed almost immediately. I'd put it in my DVD player and turned on the television before I even knew what I was doing. Sergei gave me a quizzical look which I ignored. I was glad he was taking pains to be quiet, though, to avoid waking the sleeping sister in my bed. "So," I began quietly, "how much has Derek told you about Casey?" This question was more for me than for him since it was something I'd been dying to know since I first met him, but it was as good a place to start as any.

Sergei shrugged, still looking confused. "Not much, I guess." He frowned, thinking for a moment as if trying to recall every time Derek had mentioned her. "She is in a few pictures Derek has." I nodded, half-expecting this but also surprised to hear that Derek actually had family pictures lying around his apartment. "And I've seen her at some of our matches..." he continued cautiously. I wondered if Derek had actually pointed her out or if Sergei had just remembered her face from when she was sitting with us. The look on his face became a bit stranger. "And he... he has videos of her on his computer."

I raised a brow at that. It sounds so salacious, doesn't it? I shouldn't have been surprised since I knew Derek loved to practice his filming techniques on Casey and had created a stash of embarrassing videos while in high school. He'd also helped her with that film project she did for their sociology class, so it was more than probable that he had some non-embarrassing footage of her on his computer. I remembered with a start how Nora and Dad had asked Derek to document the early days of Sebastian's life, and I realized with a start that he probably had a great deal of footage of Casey with Sebastian in more vulnerable and peaceful moments. Sergei's eyes were darting around as if he was trying to hide something, so I fixed him with a look.

"He watches them sometimes, but he always looks..." Sergei confessed, fumbling with words. He frowned a little bit. "-Sad after." My eyebrows shot up even further, and Sergei surprised me by volunteering, "I think he misses her." I nodded slowly, agreeing but still surprised. Sergei still didn't say what Derek had told him about her, which made me wonder if Derek had said anything or even explained that-

Sergei continued, a serious, strained look on his face. "He used to mention her more. When I first met Derek, he was always talking about her." That must've been during his first semester at UWO, when both Derek and Casey still lived here. Back when they still had a normal relationship, or, well, as normal as things ever got between them, at least. "He smiled then," Sergei added a moment later, in that same sad tone. I wondered if he meant that Derek smiled while talking about Casey or just smiled, period. He still smiled, but he did seem to smile less than I remembered.

I nodded, motioning for him to go on. The more he tells me, the better I'm able to gage how much to tell him and where I should start. Sergei shrugged. "He still tells stories sometimes." That surprised me, given how he acted whenever any of his family members even mentioned her name. "Usually because of Ralph," Sergei explained. Ah. I nodded, understanding. Ralph's not afraid to mention Casey and probably doesn't remember there's kind of a moratorium on talking about her in Derek's presence. So I guess it's easier for Derek to humor him than get mad about it since he knows Ralph can't help it. "And he gets this look on his face after. Bittersweet. Dark."

I tried to ignore the fact that he'd just described Derek's expression with terms usually used to describe chocolate. I could imagine the expression he'd related, the hope fading from his features, the tightness of his face, the pained expression after he realized he could never go back to that. I nodded slowly, accepting that that was as specific as it was going to get. "I... I don't know what exactly Derek ever said to you about her... but she's Lizzie's older sister. Derek's other stepsister." Honestly, I wasn't sure Derek had ever told Sergei what, exactly, Casey was to him... and I couldn't be sure if he'd even mentioned that she was his stepsister, even if that was, sadly, the defining aspect of their relationship (it seemed like something he would leave out for whatever reason). I glanced over to Sergei to gage his reaction to what I'd said, but his face was as blank as ever. No help there. "Our parents got married a little over eight years ago, when Derek and Casey were in their second year of high school."

I made some sort of helpless, awkward gesture. "As you can see, Derek and Casey don't really get along. They, um, used to fight all the time about everything, always trying to one-up each other... And then, towards the end of their last year in high school, they sort of became friends. As bizarre as that was." I glanced over at him again and immediately looked away, uncomfortable at just how piercing his stare was. "They were supposed to go to the same university, even, you know... Queens. It's, uh, it's in Kingston." I hadn't realized how hard it would actually be for me to explain Casey and Derek to an outsider, just how hard it was to talk about these things.

Sergei raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at this. I nodded a bit grimly, forcing myself to press on. "Yeah, Derek doesn't talk about it much... You see, Sebastian was born, and that kind of changed everything. Casey deferred and took a semester off, and Derek got off UWO's waitlist and decided to stay here to, you know, help out." Sergei gave me an expectant look. "Doesn't sound like him, I know." I swallowed; this next part was the hardest. "I don't really know what happened between them that Christmas, but something... _happened._.. and afterwards, they were completely different people." That was a blatant lie, actually, but I couldn't explain to Sergei what I'd just found out, what I was still working through. Even if I could've found the words, I doubt I could've voiced them.

"Casey decided to go to University of Toronto and never looked back... Derek hasn't really been the same since... And she and Derek have been more or less avoiding each other for the better part of four years as a result of it. They don't really talk about each other, get all weird when you mention the other one. It's made our family all weird. No one knows why or what to do, just that they're different... And, well, I'm sure you've noticed the tension between them." Sergei nodded. "It wasn't always that... thick, like you could cut it with a knife." Or that sexual, I added mentally. "I think it's gotten worse since Casey got engaged." If it getting worse was at all possible. Maybe Derek just got more desperate?

Sergei nodded more emphatically and looked like he was about to say something. Perhaps he, like me, remembered Derek's drunkenness after hearing about the engagement. I sighed, debating for a moment how best to explain what had occurred in the hallway. I felt like I was leaving out a lot of details and context with the way I put it, but there wasn't really any other way to say it. "Derek and Casey kissed," I said simply, aware of just how surreal it felt to say that. Sergei gave me a surprised look, no doubt remembering Casey's fiancé (though, if he really knew Derek, that couldn't be too much of a surprise, now could it?). I sighed, sinking back into the couch. "And it's been a long time coming."

I licked my lips, focusing on the movie, the predictable little screen and the familiar laughably poor acting. It was nice to know that one thing in the world was steady and constant, even if it was a film as bad as this one. Honestly, though, Plan 9's not the worst movie that was ever made. It's mediocre in a laughable way at least, you know? But it doesn't quite shut my brain down half as much as it should. "Cousin Vicky looks like Casey... And she, well... Derek, uh, he always wants more. And Casey wasn't willing or able to give him that. So he found a substitute to, um, take out his frustrations on," I explained awkwardly, feeling very uncomfortable trying to find the most politically correct yet still accurate way to say that. It still sounded unbelievably awkward, but, well, the situation was actually that uncomfortable.

Sergei nodded. His silence and lack of questions was beginning to unnerve me a bit. I kind of wondered how he and my brother had gotten so close. Were they friends because Sergei knew when not to ask questions? I personally was trying not to completely freak out because I'd probably start hyperventilating or something after putting it all together. It was a lot to absorb, a lot of things still swirling around in my head that I didn't know what to do with. "So that's Derek's secret," he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He sounded like one of those Russian writers, waxing philosophical about the human condition and the meaning of life. "That's his great tragedy."

I frowned, not exactly considering it a tragedy. Life has never been cruel to my brother. My brother has been cruel to life. I opened my mouth to say these very things and probably spill some of my built-up resentment to his best friend, but Sergei asked me another question before I could utter a single word. "And Casey... What is she like?" he asked abruptly. I closed my mouth, pondering how best to answer this question. Sergei hadn't been properly introduced to her, for starters, so of course he wouldn't know. He's operating off of the very few things Derek's told him about her.

"Stubborn." I shrugged. I'm not the best at studying character, and I'm not the Venturi who knows Casey best. What reason do I have to know her, after all? "Neurotic. Prim and proper. Put-together. Responsible. Not the most fun. A perfectionist. And a know-it-all. But competitive. Type-A. Crazy. Drama Queen. A goodie-two-shoes... A bit self-righteous..." Those were all the first words that came to mind when I thought of her, but they were missing something. I tried to find a way to describe it. "She's different around Derek though, you know? He makes her lose it, gets her completely unraveled. Brings out a different side of her, something more... human." I winced at that characterization myself, but Casey could be cold when she wanted to be.

I frowned, trying to examine Derek's counter-reaction. Their relationship, their confrontations and conversations, none of that was ever one-sided. I often thought, actually, that they were the perfect evidence of Newton's laws of motion. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. That describes them to a tee; one of them's always pushing back against the other one. It's an endless back-and-forth, and reciprocity is an important part of it, no matter how much Casey wants to ignore that aspect. "And I... I think Casey kind of gets under Derek's skin in a way no one else does. Like an itch he can't scratch." The sexual aspect of that turn of phrase hit me and seemed just so fitting at that moment.

"And how does Casey feel about your brother?" Sergei demanded. His face wore a protective yet forbidding expression. I personally felt he should've been asking Casey that question, but I wasn't sure she'd answer (much less honestly). Honestly, I have absolutely no clue, and that's something I've been going over over and over again in my head, wracking my brain for an explanation that I can't find. The truth is that I, like Derek, don't know at all how Casey feels about him. I can't read her well enough because I don't know her well enough anymore. I know enough to say she's being dishonest and that she's hiding something, but other than that, I really can't say. Casey's the kind of person who believes what she tells herself.

I just shrugged. As much as I wanted to answer that question, I couldn't. I can't vouch for Casey's feelings. I kept staring at the movie, attempting to divine ultimate truth from it. It was familiar, comforting even. I knew all the words, knew exactly what was going to happen, knew what to expect. And that meant I was able to just shut down and think about other matters. It brought clarity, clarity that I desperately needed since everything was so damn jumbled in my head.

Sergei cleared his throat awkwardly, interrupting my inner monologue. I turned slowly to look at him. I felt like I was in a fog. I wanted... well, I didn't know, but I wanted Lizzie. I wanted to tell her about this, but I knew I couldn't. She wouldn't understand, and even if she did, I felt like she'd just use it somehow, warp it to suit her goals in her quest to land my brother. Honestly, though, I didn't think she'd want to know. Maybe it would change things for her a little too much. Still, she was the first one I thought of going to.

He glanced pointedly over at Lizzie, who was still sleeping peacefully in my bed. An uncomfortable look passed over his face, and he swallowed a bit harder than he might have. I examined Lizzie in the dim light, the way the moonlight and light from the lamp next to me framed her in shadows, the way the light reflected off of her paler skin, how dark and messy her hair was. I couldn't see her face in the darkness, but I could imagine perfectly the look on her face as she slept, eyelids half-open, the dark fringe of her fluttering eyelashes, lips just barely parted, relaxed as she wasn't in daily life. He made a vague, noncommittal gesture in her direction. "You and Lizzie, are you...?" I heard the speculative undertone in his voice and recognized the actual question, the one he was avoiding.

You could say his question rubbed at a bit of a sore spot. I also interrupted him before he could finish, cutting him off as quickly as a sharp knife. "Look, I don't know what my brother told you, but it's crap. And he doesn't know what the hell he's talking about," I retorted shortly, clenching my jaw. The words came out a bit blunter and sharper than I might've said them, with an undercurrent of bitterness and irritation.

Sergei was a bit more hesitant. He eyed me uncomfortably, a bit reluctant to continue talking, like he thought I would explode like an atom bomb. This surprised me, given his close friendship with my far more volatile brother. You'd think he'd be used to that sort of thing by now. "He seems to think you love her," Sergei suggested cautiously, watching my reaction very, very carefully. I wondered irritably if he was doing some sort of lame reconnaissance for my brother, who should be able to do this himself.

I tried not to be overtly affected by this accusation, lest I give something key away. Nonetheless, I think my jaw clenched further despite my best efforts. "Not in the way that he thinks," I said tersely, glaring at the screen. I hated that Derek was trying to manipulate my relationship with Liz to measure to some equivalent in his own life. I shook my head, briefly glancing at Sergei. "He's gotten this stupid idea into his head to try and fix us up. Thinks I'm into her or whatever," I continued dismissively, practically rolling my eyes. I couldn't have been more emphatic about my next statement. "But I'm **not** interested, and she's in love with someone else. Besides... she's my _sister_, you know? You don't mess with that."

Sergei nodded slowly like he understood, but I could sense that he didn't fully get it. How could he? Sergei was an only child. The more I thought about what my brother wanted to happen between Lizzie and me, the angrier I became. I continued exasperatedly, voice becoming progressively louder and more strained, "And no matter how many times I try to tell him that, he never seems to listen to a single word I say." Derek may be my brother, but nothing made me more furious than him pretending he knew more than I did, especially about my own life when, actually, Derek was incredibly short-sighted and blinded by his own prejudices and experiences. The patronizing, pedantic tone of his, the way he practically ordered me around to do this or that absolutely infuriated me.

By that point, something strange and powerful had come over me, like all the resentment and irritation and frustration I'd been feeling towards my brother just exploded in some sort of elaborate fireball of death. "Just because _**he's**_ in love with his stepsister and can't do anything about it doesn't mean that everyone else is!" I roared. It seemed to me that my voice was booming, loud enough to echo off of all the walls, petulant and enraged at the same time. How senseless my brother was!

And there it was, the cruel truth. The truth I'd always known but had been too scared to acknowledge.

I felt lighter and heavier at the same time, relieved of the secret burden I'd never realized I was carrying (for my brother), but terrified, staggering under the weight of what I'd just said. It took me a while to realize what I'd said, but when it hit me, I froze, unable to believe I'd just said that like some sort of battle cry. It was the first time I'd ever said it out loud, and it stunned me into silence. Because wasn't that what I'd been thinking all along anyways but never said? And why had I never said it? Because I was scared of how things would change if someone in this family finally acknowledged that unspoken truth? If there was finally an answer to why things were so strange and so broken in this family? Or was it some other thing, some other reason that, as of yet, eluded me?

It bothered me a lot that Derek thought I was some perfect, pathetic mirror of him, that we were perfectly alike even in terms of our feelings for our stepsisters. Because we aren't. We may be brothers, and we may share approximately fifty percent of the same DNA, but we're different people with different personalities and attitudes and divergent lifestyles. Our relationships with our stepsisters also couldn't be more different; Casey and Derek were the rivals/archenemies-turned-friends-turned-mortal-enemies-yet-again, but Lizzie and I have always been best friends and partners in crime. Those dynamics are completely different. Derek and Casey were forever going to be more complicated, more dramatic. And, honestly, I don't think they could handle something like what Lizzie and I have, much less sustain it as long as we have.

They never could've recovered and rebounded from something like that summer. The way they fought, the subject matter of their fight (now, that, that was something still too explosive to consider!) only served to further convince me of that fact.

Sergei didn't realize the significance of this (how could he?), probably because he'd either (already) known (though I doubted it) or had come independently to this conclusion after hearing what I'd just witnessed. Or, perhaps, he'd had some sort of intuition I hadn't from his years with Derek. Either way, he said nothing about what I'd just shouted. I glanced over at Lizzie, worrying that my shouting had awakened her, only to find her still fortuitously asleep. My epiphany would no doubt have crushed her, and, as much as she needed and probably deserved to know who actually held my brother's heart, I didn't want to do that to her. "So you and Lizzie aren't dating, then?" Sergei asked once more, seeming inordinately interested in the fact.

I remembered wearily the things I'd said in front of Oksana and concluded he must be asking me because of that. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea about our family, after all, what with my brother in love with my other sister. "NO!" I snapped irritably. I was mostly annoyed because I thought I had been perfectly clear about that earlier. And, well, why does everyone ask me that, even people I barely know? I huffed out a breath. "She's my sister and my best friend. That's all," I maintained adamantly.

Derek would've scoffed, but Sergei just nodded. A strange look flitted over his face. I didn't know him well enough to read him or correctly interpret the look in his eyes, which seemed almost excited. His eyes were such a cold, icy blue that looking at them made me look away, feeling chilled and somehow like I was staring into some sort of an abyss. "Good..." Sergei murmured. Sergei's a smart guy, don't get me wrong, but he can be a bit awkward socially.

I was watching the movie, enjoying the simplicity of the poorly-executed plot. I love b-movies or f-movies or whatever the grade of this film is. I was enjoying the film so much that I didn't notice Sergei moving closer to me or register that his leg was brushing against mine and all that until I felt his hands on my face, turning me towards him. His eyes were so eerily blue, like one of the brighter copper compounds. And then his face was way too close to mine and coming closer still, and WTF, WAS HE TRYING TO KISS ME? I jerked my head back, virtually jumping away from him and very nearly falling off the couch. "Dude, what the **hell** are you doing?"

How hadn't I noticed how close we were sitting? Or that he was moving closer? Or that he was gay? I mean, I'd had a feeling that something about him was a little... off... and that this whole situation was a bit weird, but seriously... I had obviously never expected my brother's best friend to pull something like that! But, I mean, the guy's a hockey player, Russian, and very macho and not metrosexual-seeming at all, so how was I supposed to know? Does Derek even know about this?

I hadn't been looking at Sergei, as I was too busy going over it in my head and cursing my failure to recognize this tendency in him and trying not to hyperventilate, so I didn't see his face fall. My face was hot and red as the surface of the sun, and I couldn't even look at Sergei. I think it would've been hard to tell which one of us was more embarrassed and mortified, him or me. Ugh, and I thought Lizzie and the messed-up situation with my siblings were my biggest problems. "I thought it was obvious... I was making a move," he explained slowly. I chanced a glance at him. He looked a bit put-out. How am I even supposed to deal with something like this?

It's not like there's an instruction manual for this sort of thing, the whole, "yeah, sorry 'bout that, but I'm actually straight" talk. I mean, I know I'm not all macho like Derek, but I like to think it's pretty obvious to anyone who knows me that I'm not into other guys... not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm just... not. I've never been attracted to another guy. And, honestly, even if I were, the whole thing with Lizzie is a way bigger issue for me. I mean, as much as I'd like to say things with Lizzie would be more clear-cut and black and white and less confusing if I were gay or bisexual, I'm not so sure they would be. I think it'd still be this much of a mess, maybe even more.

I gave him a look, fighting the urge to roll my eyes, backing up against the arm of the couch and turning to look at him. Yeah, I kinda got that. Ugh, I so hate having to repeat myself. "No, I mean, _seriously_, what the hell did you think you were doing? I'm not gay." It sadly came out a lot more bluntly than I meant to say it, but I've never been very good with people. And, honestly, I don't think there was a way I could've said that that wouldn't have been really ridiculously awkward. It's better I was straightforward about it, so he's not confused or anything.

He flinched when I said it, hanging his head a little. He's a nice enough guy, but I'm attracted to girls. I felt bad, but what else could I do? I'm very much not gay, as evidenced by my little make-out session with Lizzie earlier. Seriously, why is it that my sister gets me harder than anyone else... without even trying? That's so damn twisted... and what do you even do about something like that? But I couldn't very well tell Sergei I had a longstanding hard-on for my sister either, especially with how much it creeps _me_ out. Sergei frowned, rapidly trying to make a case for either my being gay or him hitting on me. "But you said you weren't dating Lizzie, that Derek didn't know anything... And you haven't dated anyone in a year, and your parents let you sleep with your sister... And you have girl friends, yes... And-"

I grimaced. He was right on all counts. I'd said those things. I wondered, though, how he knew I hadn't dated anyone in a year. Did Derek tell him that when he was talking about Lizzie and me with Sergei? I also didn't recall ever mentioning that I had girl friends besides Lizzie because, well, honestly, I don't. I have Lizzie, and then we have some mutual friends, but they're really more her friends than mine, you know? There's Sylvia (sort of), Chuck, Danielle (kind of), and some of my exes... "Despite what you've heard, I'm actually not gay." Again, that came out blunter than I intended, so, a beat later, I said apologetically, "Not that there's anything, um, wrong with that. 'Cause there isn't. I'm just... not."

This statement was somehow negated by my fumbling with words. Sergei looked down; he was distinctly uncomfortable. "I am sorry, Edwin..." he began in a small voice.

I shut my eyes, feeling worse. I let out a long breath before interrupting him. How do I put this carefully without screwing things up any further? I ran a hand through my hair. "Look, I don't really care that you're gay..." I announced brusquely. I don't care, really, but obviously I care that he just tried to put the moves on me! I attempted to force myself to relax and lean back into the couch. "It's just... Does Derek know about this?" I looked over at him just in time to see Sergei solemnly shaking his head no.

Of course Derek doesn't know. Does anyone, then? If he can't tell my brother, how'd he get the guts to try and hit on me? Did he think I'd be a mathematical certainty or something? I was kind of offended; I'm not that easy, thanks. The Male Code applies to brothers too, right? I mean, just because I'm not a girl... I'd still be weirded out if one of my friends dated Derek or Casey, you know? Not to mention Marti or Lizzie. Just like Casey was weirded out by Derek dating Emily or by that salesgirl hitting on me. "What I have a problem with is that you just made a move on your best friend's brother. Regardless of how Derek would feel about your um... Regardless of that, Derek would **not** approve of you going after his little brother. You just _don't_ do that. It's creepy. I mean, really, what did you _think_ was going to happen?" I interjected pointedly, trying to keep the indignation out of my voice.

I tried to imagine how Sergei would've sprung that on my brother if I'd reciprocated his sentiments but couldn't even picture it. Derek would be furious and incomprehensible. Something in Sergei's eyes softened. He began to apologize once again. "I am so-"

But I didn't let him finish because Derek reminded me of other questions I had. I stared at him, incredulous. "-Is that why you made a move on me? Because I'm _Derek's _brother? Is this all about him? You just want me because Derek's super-hetero, and you can't have him, and I seem like I might be gay just because I'm not a manwhore and my best friend's a girl?" I demanded, trying and failing to keep myself from more or less freaking out. My voice went up a few octaves and was cracking like I was back in middle school, totally cringe-worthy.

Sergei scowled, straightening on the couch. I hadn't noticed it until then, but I'd been holding myself very stiffly and as far away from him as possible. Color suffused his pale cheeks. "No! I may be g-gay, but I do not want every guy I know. And Derek is _not_ my type. He's my friend, my brother," he injected indignantly, clearly offended. His eyes were hard. I felt a bit chagrined, but I knew I hadn't asked that question because he was gay. I'd asked that question because he came on to me. He gestured sloppily to me. "I came onto you because you're smart and funny and attractive, and I can have an actual conversation with you. We have things in common. You understand things," Sergei insisted.

I blinked, mildly surprised at this. Sergei's cheeks were still flushed, though I wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. I looked away from him, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. As nice as it is to be admired, the guy still barely knew me. We'd had so few conversations I could count them on one hand, and Sergei wasn't big on words unless he was talking about incredibly obscure chemical properties or his research. I mean, I can say all of the same things about Lizzie, but I don't want to put the moves on her, you know?

I forced myself to look at him. He deserved at least that much. I sighed, making myself meet his eerie gaze. "I'm Derek's brother, Sergei. You get that, right? My whole life I've grown up in his shadow... and it's not the greatest place to be. So when I asked you that... It's nothing personal. I'm just used to _everyone_ really wanting or expecting Derek. They use me to get to him or as a substitute for him, and it's getting real old. So whenever someone acts like they're interested in me, that's my first thought," I said bluntly. My voice was a little raw, a little bitter. The amount of honesty in what I'd just said to him surprised me. I didn't really talk to anyone about how I felt growing up with Derek... Zach, maybe, because he gets it... sometimes Lizzie when she's really pissing me off going on about him...

Sergei frowned, eyes widening. Apparently my honesty surprised him too and got him off the defensive. "That is very sad. You are completely different," he said, reaching out to pat me on the shoulder. I very nearly jumped at the contact, but Sergei correctly read the look in my eyes and drew away as if on fire. I must've made some sort of face. He offered me a half-smile. "It is a good thing. You don't need to be Derek, you know, for people to like you," Sergei told me in all seriousness.

I shrugged, trying to pretend like I didn't care. Experience has shown me otherwise, but I manage. I wondered if Sergei could see through me, if he saw through Derek. I attempted to change the subject as quickly as possible, "You know, I know it's none of my business, man, but you should tell my brother." Sergei tensed, watching me out of the corner of his eye. He'd begun to frown. I tried to backpedal, "I mean, not about this whole thing, but... you know. That you're gay. I don't really think he'd care much." I refrained from saying that Derek was in love with his stepsister and not really in any moral position to judge, even if he cared about that sort of thing.

Once again, I shrugged, trying to keep it nonchalant. I really did think he ought to tell Derek. I can see how he'd be afraid to, given that Derek is probably the closest thing to a brother he has here and Derek doesn't seem like he's very welcoming to that sort of thing... but that's the thing about Derek; he'll always surprise you. I looked Sergei in the eye; he averted his gaze pointedly. "I mean, yeah, he might freak out a bit at first, but I think you'll feel better once he knows. Once anyone knows... I mean, you're not real friends if you feel like you have to keep such a huge secret from him... and if you're really friends, then Derek will still care about you and want you around no matter what," I continued, utterly convinced in what I was telling him.

My brother may lie a lot, but he never really lies about who he is. He's ridiculously uncompromising in that respect, even if he's making up achievements or that sort of thing, and a lie like this... would bother him. It might make him question his friendship with Sergei, and he might even be a little bit hurt by it, not that he'd ever show it. But if they're really as close as I think they are, he'll get over it pretty fast. Derek can be very forgiving when he wants to be. He can also be very supportive; just look at how he's trying to push me to get together with Lizzie because he thinks she'd be good for me and all that. "He's more progressive than you think, you know, despite the whole caveman thing."

Sergei gave me a look, clearly unimpressed with this line of reasoning. He drew into himself a little bit, like one of those lonely islands by the Arctic Circle. He mumbled something under his breath, probably about Derek or cavemen. He threw me a forbidding look, silently warning that I wasn't to tell Derek either. I relaxed a bit and moved a little closer to Sergei. He didn't have cooties or a contagious illness that I knew of, after all (although Russia's HIV rate is worryingly high, come to think of it). I shook the thought off. "I mean, how can you say that Derek really knows you and that you're _really _friends if there's this huge part of you that he doesn't know?" I pressed further.

He glared at me, his expression sullen. "I do not know, Edwin." He shrugged, face blank once again. "I'm seeing right now that there is this whole side to Derek that I never knew," he replied pointedly. It was then that I felt the hypocrisy of my own words. How much had I kept from Lizzie over the years? How much was I keeping from her now? But, no, that was different. That was for her own good, for my sanity or what's left of it, at any rate. Either way, I knew I couldn't argue with that.

Sergei was better about people than I gave him credit for. He looked at me, lost in thought, and sighed. "I tired." He glanced blearily at the movie. "This film is horrible." I opened my mouth to negate that claim, but Sergei was already curling up against the other arm of the couch, pushing a pillow under his head. "I think I will sleep now," he announced quietly, pulling the sleeping bag over himself. Getting the hint, I got up slowly, vaguely annoyed that my thinking process had been interrupted. I thought to tell him that the sofa unfolded into a proper bed, but Sergei closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep almost as soon as he could stretch out over the full length of the couch (it still wasn't long enough for him, however).

Shaking my head, still unable to believe everything that had transpired in such a short amount of time. I hated that those dumb questions were still floating around in my head, that I still didn't completely get what it meant. There is nothing I hate more than not having all the answers. In a fog, I walked back over to my bed and crawled into it, still thinking furiously.

What did it mean for me? That was the question that was repeating itself over and over again in my head like a tape on loop.

All I could hear was the sound of Lizzie's breathing, slow, reliable, and measured. She was still blissfully sound asleep, hadn't felt the mattress shifting under my weight. She seemed so still and peaceful in sleep, so very unlike how she was in daily life. I envied her; I'd never be able to sleep so lightly, so softly. I drew comfort in her presence, in her familiar weight, the familiar scent of her hair, of her faded perfume, the softness of her skin, the familiar way her chest rose and fell. Before I knew what I was doing, I was wrapping my body around hers, lacing my arms around her waist, pressing my front to her back. Every breath seemed to bring us closer. Unbidden, I wiggled forward, burying my head in her hair, into the crook of her neck, and breathing in her scent. Like pure oxygen, it gave me a a kind of sleepy high.

Liz arched into my touch, meeting it everywhere she could. Her body relaxed immediately, relaxed even more if that was at all possible. She was so soft and warm and familiar that it was easy for me to relax too. Even unconscious she still had a way of grounding me when I felt like my foundations were unstable, and everything I thought was solid is shifting and eroding and so much more mutable than I ever realized. I closed my eyes, moving closer still to the one thing in my life that made sense to me anymore, glad that I still had this, a friendship as dependable and important as anything I'd ever known, even the certainty of cold, hard facts.

And, lying there with my arms around her, snuggling into her, I was absolutely certain of one thing: that Lizzie would always be my anchor. And that, _that_ would never change.

* * *

Loren ;*

Review, if you please! I would greatly appreciate them, given the season. ;)


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